


Take Me To Church

by optomisticgirl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Priest Killian, Priest Kink, Religious Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 03:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 119,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8086270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/optomisticgirl/pseuds/optomisticgirl
Summary: Emma Swan returned to her southern hometown of Storybrooke to pick up the pieces of her last shattered relationship, determined to rebuild her life in the one place she swore she'd never return to. What she didn't expect was the new priest and the journey of passion, love, and redemption he would take her on.





	1. Not You Average Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Right…. so I’m a huge lover of the priest!killian plot and the smuttier the better. I made a deal with my smutty priest!killian soulmate jscoutfinch that if she wrote a smutty priest!killian fic and expanded her writing resume into the smut field that I would too. So here it is. 
> 
> Also, it has been years (10+) since I stepped foot into a church for a service soooo I’m a little rusty when it comes to the religious aspect. My only church experience revolves around what I experienced growing up here in the South so for that purpose, Storybrooke in this story is set in South Carolina to better align with how I know things. 
> 
> Enough rambling. As always enjoy and reviews/favorites/follows feed the muse!

“Emma! Hurry up or we’re going to be late!”

Emma Nolan rolled her eyes as her mother’s voice carried from downstairs. The woman was habitually late for every aspect of her life but the thought of being late for a Sunday Mass would send Mary Margaret Nolan into an absolute frenzy of promptness. Running a hand through her blonde locks Emma quickly checked her reflection in the full length mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door.

Most of her clothes were still in New York - there was only so much she could fit in her small bug - but having grown up with her mother she at least had the presence of mind to bring a few Sunday pieces with her. The champagne colored summer dress fell to just a few inches above her knees, flaring out slightly at the waist to create an almost swaying effect as she walked. She kept her accessories simple - her favorite dust rose clutch, the small pearl drop earrings her father had given to her on her twenty-second birthday, and the ever present Swan necklace she had worn since she was seventeen. Her make up was simple and her blonde locks cascaded down her shoulders in loose waves with the champagne heels she had bought at Ruby’s insistence during the brunette’s last trip to New York rounding out her outfit.

It had been years since she went to church - almost a decade, really - but she still knew the dress etiquette that her mother had drilled into her from an early age. Sunday mass in their small town of Storybrooke was as much a fashion show as it was a place of worship with entire people’s reputations living or dying based on what they chose to wear. It was a concept of small town life Emma had never agreed with and one of the many reasons she had stopped attending church altogether, much to her mother’s horror 

But when you move back home with your parents at twenty-eight after a particularly nasty break up, you quickly learn not to argue with your mother’s one stipulation of going to church every Sunday.

“Emma!”

Rolling her eyes again at the world’s best procrastinator getting onto _her_ for running late, Emma grabbed the dust rose cardigan off the back of her vanity chair and made her way downstairs. Her summer dress may keep her cool in the non air conditioned church but she knew spaghetti straps would have her mother fainting in mortification. And Mary Margaret refused to be the talk of the town.

Descending the stairs she saw her mother standing by the front door, demure quarter length sleeved pink dress perfectly unwrinkled with a matching dress hat atop her raven pixie-cut hair. Her mother and that unhealthy obsession with dress hats. Not for the first time Emma was reminded of all those pictures from the Kentucky Derby of perfectly attired women with stylish hats. 

Hearing Emma’s heels as they hit the wooden floor of the foyer Mary Margaret turned. “Are you ready, dear?” Emma nodded, noticing her mother give her a quick once over before opening the door.

Some things never changed.

“Where’s dad?” she asked as she followed her mother down the front steps.

“He’s going to meet us there. He had to run into the station for a few hours this morning, something about Leroy and the new computer system. Graham was close to locking Deputy Grumpy in the cell just for some peace and quiet.”

Emma smiled as they climbed into her mother’s car. Her father was Storybrooke’s Sheriff and the most respected man in their little town. His deputies - or two stooges as Emma had called them through the years - not so much, though her mother did have a fondness for Leroy, or Grumpy as Emma had nicknamed him when she was a child for the ever present frown on the man’s face.

As they pulled out of the immaculate Nolan driveway Emma let her mother’s monologue on the latest town gossip fade away, her eyes trained out the car window. As trees gave way to the quaint buildings of Storybrooke’s main street she couldn’t help but think about what had and hadn’t changed in her hometown over the past ten years.

Storybrooke, South Carolina was your typical small Southern town filled with the beginnings of the next generation and the foundations of the past, history mixed with the promise of the future. The library on the corner of main street was a new addition to the sleepy town, one her mother had told her was due to a new resident, Belle Jones, who had moved from Australia six months prior. Mr. French’s flower shop was still the brightest building on Misthaven Road although Tink’s Fairy Dust Beauty, owned by one her childhood best-friends Christine O’Donoghue, was quickly giving the aging flower shop a run for its money. Mr. Gold’s pawn shop still sat dark and dreary across from the police station and Granny’s dinner, according to her father, was still the staple place for the best grilled cheese sandwich this side of the Savannah River.

Emma hadn’t been home much over the past ten years, her life in New York keeping her from visiting except the odd holiday here and there. Not that she had ever had much desire to visit on a more regular basis. The events that had sent her running to the Big Apple when she was eighteen still haunted her every time she crossed the town line and although no one publicly spoke of her humiliating decisions as a teenager - mostly due to her parent’s standing in the community - she wasn’t naive enough to think they didn’t talk behind closed doors about the summer the sheriff’s daughter completely lost her mind.

As Mary Margaret turned off Main Street and onto Orchid Avenue which dead ended at the massive Catholic church she looked at her mother.

“How has Father Merlin been? Still scaring the kids with his old wizard impression during Halloween?”

Mary Margaret laughed. “Father Merlin is doing well the last we heard from him. He’s retired to a nice little community down in Florida for clergymen.”

Emma raised her eyebrows in shock. “Father Merlin isn’t the priest any more?”

Her mother shook her head as she pulled into the almost full church parking lot. “Not since about six months ago. He was nearing eighty, Emma. I’m surprised he didn’t retire years ago, especially after his last battle with pneumonia.”

“Who is the priest now?”

Mary Margaret shut the car off after pulling into the shade of a large magnolia tree before starting to gather her purse from the backseat. “Father Jones. He arrived a few weeks before Father Merlin retired to learn the ropes and to get to know everyone. We had a huge cookout for him at the house not long after he arrived.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Emma muttered as they got out of the car. Mary Margaret Nolan may be a sweet and endearing elementary school teacher but she was first and foremost a Southerner, and they bled nothing but hospitality.

“He’s a sweet man,” her mother continued as they made their way toward the church, heels clicking on the worn pavement. “His sermons are always filled with such passion and he takes the time with every parishioner who seeks his private counsel. I think he’ll be with us for a long time.”

“Who will be with us for a long time?”

Emma turned and smiled at the approaching figure of her father. David Nolan was your quintessential Southern boy - kind, courtesy, willing to give you the shirt off his back for nothing in return, and charming. His muscular frame was a hallmark back to his days of playing football for Storybrooke High and although he was turning forty-eight this November the only sign of age on him was a few strands of grey in his blonde locks. Blue eyes bright, her father enveloped her in a tight hug as if he hadn’t seen her just last night before placing an affectionate kiss to her mother’s cheek.

“I was catching Emma up on our new priest,” Mary Margaret explained, reaching to fix the upturned collar of her husband’s dress shirt.

“I like him,” David said to his daughter, fidgeting with the red tie she knew he loathed but her mother adored. “He seems to have a good head on his shoulders and so far has gotten along with every member in town, including Gold.”

Emma blinked in surprise as they made their way up the church’s stone steps, her and her mother taking one of her father’s offered arms. “Gold _likes_ someone?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Mary Margaret mumbled, throwing a quick hello and smile as they passed old man Geppetto. “You know that man hates everyone. For some reason he’s kept his normal ire in check when it comes to Father Jones.”

“Small miracles do happen,” Emma laughed as the three of them walked through the large wooden doors of St. Meissa. Even though Emma had her issues with religion and particularly religion in the South, she had always loved the aesthetic of their Catholic church. It had been built in the 1840’s and was beautifully crafted with an arched ceiling, six stained glass windows running along both walls, and newly installed marble running up the center aisle. The light wood always seemed to shine from the lights, giving the main room an almost ethereal glow even on Storybrooke’s darkest days.

Following her parents down the aisle she smiled politely at the townspeople she passed, her own ingrained Southern manners kicking in. She eventually had to continue on toward the pew her family had sat in her entire life by herself when her parents got caught up in a conversation with Brier Rose and Stefan Haven.

“Emma!”

She turned at the sound of her name, smiling brightly when she recognized two of her best-friends walking toward her. They were polar opposites from everything to their looks to their choice of dress, the definition of night and day. Ruby Lucas was tall with a pair of legs even Emma would kill for, her long brunette locks flowing freely down her back and wearing a red sleeveless dress that was only barely considered appropriate for church, both in length and the amount of cleavage on display. Her lips were red and she had the trademark Ruby Lucas cat wing eyeliner on which gave her facial features the look of a wolf ready to pounce on its prey. Christine was the shortest of their group which had earned her the nickname Tink when they were kids. Her long blonde hair was pulled up into a soft bun atop her head, her make up soft and earthy, and she wore a short sleeved summer green dress that fell to her knees.

“Tink! Ruby!”

“When did you get in?” Tink asked, leaning in to give her a warm hug.

“Just last night,” Emma replied, laughing as Ruby practically tackled her in the middle of the church aisle. “I wasn’t expecting to see you guys here.”

“Please,” Ruby laughed. “Granny _insists_ that I come to church to ‘cleanse my soul for all the sins I commit during the week’ - do you really think I’m turning down a day off every week?”

Emma tilted her head. “Are you still giving Granny heart attacks with your lack of uniform material, Rubes?”

Ruby grinned wolfishly. “Of course!”

“Granny and half of Storybrooke,” Tink added, causing all three women to laugh.

Emma had missed this. She had missed _them_. The girls had visited her in New York numerous times over the past ten years and she always made a point of spending time with them on one of her many infrequent visits back home. But there was something about seeing them now without a deadline for the visit to end or a pressuring _someone_ at her back that made it just feel right. The only thing missing was their fourth musketeer, Elsa.

“Oh!” Tink exclaimed, blue eyes going wide. “Have you seen the new priest, Emma?”

“Father Jones? No, I haven’t. I didn’t even know Father Merlin had retired until mom told me on the way here. Have ya’ll?”

Ruby and Tink shared a look. “Oh we’ve…. definitely seen Father Jones,” Tink replied with a coy smile.

“Many, many times,” Ruby added, tongue poking into the corner of her mouth.

Emma stared between her friends. “Why do I feel like I’m the odd man out of an inside joke?”

Before either woman could respond the soft piano music of Mother Superior began to fill the church. Ruby and Tink shot her knowing looks as her parents appeared from nowhere, her mother ushering her into the very front pew. 

If she hadn’t of been in a church Emma would have rolled her eyes at her mother’s eagerness.

Taking her seat she watched as the choir filtered in from the back rooms and began singing the opening hymnal. She recognized a few of them - the socialite daughter of Brier Rose and Stefan, Aurora Haven, the local dressmaker’s daughter Ashley Boyd, Elsa’s soon-to-be brother-in-law, Kristoff Iverman, and Jefferson Hatter’s little girl, Grace. As the choir seamlessly moved from one hymn to the next she found herself opening the Bible that had been resting on the pew next to her and aimlessly flipping through it.

She might have agreed to her mother’s stipulation of coming to church every Sunday but that didn’t mean she had to pay attention.

After a few minutes of the choir singing along with Mother Superior’s piano playing the church went quiet, the silence only broken by the occasional cough, baby cry, or the sound of paper fans being fluttered around to combat the rising Southern heat. So engrossed in her mental task of listing everything she needed to transfer from New York Emma didn’t realize the new priest had walked down the aisle and started mass until the lilting, accented voice filled the church hall.

“Brothers and sisters, we are gathered here today…”

Snapping her head up at the lilting accent that echoed throughout the old church Emma’s eyes instantly fell on the man standing behind the pulpit and her jaw dropped. What her mother had failed to mention about dear sweet Father Jones was that the man was drop dead _gorgeous_.

He was young for a priest she thought, perhaps her own age although the dark scruff that covered his jaw made him look a few years older. Since when did the Catholic church allow their priests to have facial hair? Black hair fell over his forehead almost teasingly and she sat captivated as he continued to speak, full lips forming the words of the sermon effortlessly, wrapping around the holy words almost sinfully.

And his accent… was that Irish? No, it was different from Graham’s rough accent - more fluid, like a gentle caress to the skin. It reminded her of Regina’s husband’s accent and hadn’t Robin mentioned he was from England on one of her trips back home a year or two ago? How had a British priest - who looked like he should be on the cover of GQ - found his way to a small southern town?

Half turning in her seat she looked back a few pews to where Ruby and Tink sat and wasn’t surprised in the slightest to find both her friends watching her intently. Her reaction must have been what they were expecting because both women fought to control a fit of giggles which only resulted in old Mrs. Turner glaring at both of them. Turning back around at her mother’s own stern glare Emma looked toward the altar and froze as Father Jones’s crystal blue eyes landed right on her.

Mary and Joseph forgive her because she was certainly going to Hell now.

* * *

 

His feet pounded the pavement to Savage Garden’s _Break Me Shake Me_ as he rounded the small pond at the center of the park, heart pumping in time with the song’s beat. Even though it was early in the day, still not even six AM, he could feel the rivets of sweat pouring down his body and soaking his wife beater. 

Running in the South had been an adjustment to say the least with the weather swinging from one extreme to another in only a matter of months. He had arrived in the quaint town of Storybrooke six months ago, a month after the new year had started and the cold had damn near killed him on his morning runs. He was British and use to cold weather, had even walked to seminary school once in three feet of snow without blinking an eye but the Southern winter seeped into his bones in a way even the coldest English winter hadn’t. March and April had been pleasant with the prevalent breeze that brought the smell of blooming flowers every morning.

But by the beginning of May the heat had appeared seemingly out of no where, making him feel like he was running in a low grade oven even though he ran long before the sun came up. Now in the middle of June the heat was almost unbearable, the temperature on his phone that morning reading sixty-eight at four o’clock in the morning and it would only rise as the day went on.

Not running wasn’t an option though.

It was something he had done since his earliest naval days, finding a solitude on the pavement that he couldn’t anywhere else. Even now, eight years after he had been ordained, the pavement beneath his feet gave him more solitude than the church could. He knew the thought was blasphemous but he hadn’t always been a priest and he’d say a few hail marys later to appease the sinful thought.

Emerging from the park that was conveniently right next to the church Killian Jones slowed to a stop, his breathing heavy in the sticky hot morning air. Falling into a series of stretches he surveyed his surroundings. It was only a few minutes past six in the morning, the sky just beginning to lighten with the approaching dawn and the town was quiet. He prefered running at this time, enjoying the solace of the world as it awoke from sleep and it saved him the awkward moments of running into his parishioners. 

No one wanted to see their priest running in a wife beater and basketball shorts.

Completing his last stretch he entered the church through the kitchen’s back door, making sure to lock it as he went and made his way to the apartment at the back of the church. Taking out his earbuds he laid his phone on the dresser, eyes momentarily falling on the lone picture frame sat there. The picture was from another life, depicting two men and a woman who shared similar features stood in front of a boat, their arms around each other’s shoulders. His sister was the picture of youth and beauty, Belle just entering her teenage years and unmarred from the struggles that she would one day face. He didn’t even recognize the smiling face of his younger self - the face of a man who had the entire world at his feet, untouched by loss. The face of his brother he could never forget. Liam’s image haunted his dreams almost every night, the same moment playing over and over again, always waking him in a cold sweat with his brother’s name falling from his lips in a desperate cry.

Jaw clenching he pushed thoughts of his brother and the innocence of youth away as he kicked off his running shoes and stripped out of his clothes. He had just enough time for a quick shower and breakfast before morning Mass started. 

* * *

 

Hearing the soft chime of his phone alarm Killian shut his laptop. Storing it in his desk drawer that locked he couldn’t help but smile as he remembered how flustered Father Merlin had been when he first saw it. The aging priest believed in the old ways of writing sermons - pen to paper, holed up in seclusion - but Killian found it infinitely easier to type his message, the use of modern technology allowing him to write wherever inspiration struck him. Other than the differences of how to create God’s message he and the former priest had gotten along quite well before his retirement, spending many a night in the church’s kitchen talking over glasses of tea. They were both men of faith and he had learned that while Father Merlin frowned upon the use of computers he was more than willing to have a modest tv installed in the apartment so he could still watch football matches.

Father Merlin had moved to the States from Scotland decades ago and helped Killian’s own transition from the other side of the pond. When he had taken this position at the behest of the local bishop the young priest had been worried about how the local community would react. He was fairly young to be a priest and was replacing a man who had been a beloved fixture in the community for forty years. He knew from talking to his best-friend that the small town of Storybrooke was tight knit and didn’t welcome strangers with open arms despite their outward southern hospitality.

But his appearance had been met with nothing but warm smiles, everyone in the community going out of their way to make him feel welcomed. The sheriff’s wife, Mrs. Nolan, had even held a cookout for him shortly after his arrival. It was clear the people of Storybrooke were a religious group of people and as long as he aided them in worshipping the Lord he was considered an upstanding member of the community.

He had acclimated so well to small town life that he had convinced his younger sister to move here a month after he had taken up the post, paying to have her things shipped from Australia himself. Belle’s reception in Storybrooke had been a little rockier than his had with most of the people curious as to why a young, attractive woman from another part of the world with no husband had chosen to make Storybrooke her new home. The Nolans had helped ease most of the tension and Regina Mills-Loxley had even cut through a lot of the normal red tape involved to give Belle the local library to run, a fact he knew his sister was grateful for.

Straightening his black robes he made sure to put his phone on silent before pocketing it, grabbing his rosary and notes on the sermon before he exited the small office. As he made his way toward the chapel he could hear the choir singing and his chest swelled with warmth. Priesthood may not have always been his calling but he had always been a somewhat religious man and the singing of the choir was one of his few happy childhood memories.

Slowly making his way down the marbled aisle of the church he smiled at the few parishioners who glanced at him. The church was already stifling hot even though it was just after eight AM and he made a mental note to inquire about getting AC before the summer temperatures skyrocketed. Reaching the pulpit he arranged his typed notes until the choir finished, letting the church fall into a deep silence before he began.

“Brothers and sisters, we are gathered here today…”

Liam had once told him when they were younger that he had a voice that could have commanded a man to turn against King and country and it was a facet he had used throughout his priesthood. He had always been able to capture a room, making a point to look into the parishioners eyes as he spoke passionately about the word of God. The sermon that morning was on how God gave people what they needed when they least expected it, a subject he had written about after having a conversation with Belle the previous Sunday. As his eyes moved around the room he saw many of the congregation nodding along to his words, paper fans briskly moving to combat the heat that hung in the air.

And then he saw her.

He hadn’t stumbled over the words in a sermon since his very first in that large London church but as his eyes landed on the woman in the front pew he found himself fumbling for his next words. She was surely an angel that had dropped from heaven, dressed in a champagne dress and a dark pink cardigan that complemented her milky skin perfectly. Blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders in waves, looking like an ethereal waterfall as the morning sun hit it. Pink lips were parted slightly and green eyes - God her eyes - looked directly at him like twin emeralds, dazzling and drawing him in.

Fighting to remember where he had been in the sermon he cleared his throat and glanced down at his notes. “Apologizes, I was suddenly struck with the image of an angel. One that... we never see that guides God’s miracles to us…” As he continued, somehow integrating the spontaneous part of an angel who watches over them to help God’s work - a part that was most definitely _not_ in the original sermon - he chanced a glance back in the direction of the front pew. The woman was flipping intently through one of the Bible’s the church provided and unless his eyes deceived him, there was a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

He wasn’t sure how he got through the rest of the sermon because he couldn’t go more than a few seconds without looking at her. He breathed a soft sigh of relief as communion began, momentarily forcing his attention away from the blonde angel as his congregation partook of the body and blood of Christ. He did notice she didn’t participate, exchanging what seemed to be a few tense words with Mrs. Nolan at her refusal.

That intrigued him.

As service concluded the choir once again took up singing as the vast majority of the congregation left the church, off to no doubt enjoy Granny’s Sunday lunch special. As was his practice he stood by the church’s front door, shaking hands and nodding in thanks as people complimented the sermon message. His smile was genuine at their praise, feeling as if he was continuing to work towards redemption by bringing the Lord’s message to so many who craved it. And no one seemed to question his falter.

He was in the process of shaking Mr. Geppetto's hand and thanking him for the handcrafted furniture for his apartment when he saw a flash of blonde out of the corner of his eye and he swore his heart skipped. Gently disengaging from the elderly woodmaker he turned to see the blonde woman walking behind the Nolans who were headed directly for him. 

Taking a steadying breath he smiled as the sheriff and his wife reached him.

“Father Jones.”

“Sheriff Nolan,” he greeted warmly, clasping the older man’s hand in a firm handshake. He liked the sheriff, he really did. In many ways he reminded Killian of Liam - headstrong, protective, and optimistic.

“Intriguing sermon,” David replied, moving to make room for his wife.

Killian smiled. “It’s a subject my sister and I were discussing last week. We get so caught up in what we want we forget that God knows what we truly need and He will give it to us when we least expect it.”

“Wisely said, Father,” Mary-Margaret smiled as she reached to propel the blonde woman stood behind her forward. “This is our daughter, Emma. She arrived from New York last night. 

 _Ah, so she was the Nolan’s elusive daughter he had heard about._ “Emma,” he responded quietly, her name falling past his lips like a benediction. Holding out his hand to her he smiled. “Pleasure to meet you.”

He swore she gave a small shiver at his words but it was gone in the blink of an eye. Her eyes flickered to his outstretched hand briefly before bringing her own up tentatively to shake it. Her hand was warm in his and when they pulled apart he couldn’t help but drag the tips of his fingers along her palm, momentarily relishing the smoothness of her skin. Green eyes flashed back to him at the contact as she quickly brought her hand back to her side.

“Likewise,” she whispered before clearing her throat. “Mom said you moved here six months ago?” 

He nodded. “Aye, from England. It’s been a pleasant transition and your parents have been very helpful. Are you in town simply for a visit?” 

She laughed then, the sound like an angel’s harp to his ears. “The normal answer would be yes but no, I’m back for the foreseeable future.”

“City life not sit with you?”

Something flashed in her eyes and the smile she gave him was a little less vibrant than before. “Something like that.”

“We are just glad to finally have Emma home for good,” Mary Margaret interjected, smiling at her daughter. “Storybrooke hasn’t been the same without her.”

David chuckled. “At least we had bear claws and cinnamon in stock while she was gone.”

“Dad!”

“Only joking, princess,” he promised and Killian watched as Emma smiled warmly at her father. Mrs. Nolan had never said why her daughter lived in New York but he got impression it was a move the mother had never been fond of.

“I’m sure Storybrooke will weather the loss of delicious pastries and spice to have you back, Miss Nolan.”

“That’s kind of you, Father,” Mary Margaret laughed. Turning to her husband she placed her hand on his chest. “We shouldn’t hold the Father up any longer, David. I have to get home and prepare lunch.”

“Of course,” the sheriff conceded with a nod, smiling once again at him. “We’ll see you at tonight’s Mass, Father Jones.”

 Killian smiled at the small family as they made their way out. “I look forward to it, sheriff.”

As he started to make his way to the confessional where he saw a few parishioners waiting he looked back over his shoulder, an undeniable pull to see her one last time tugging at him. The Nolans were halfway down the steps, Miss Nolan chatting away to her husband and daughter when a large gust of wind blew past them. Miss Nolan had to grasp desperately at her pink hat to keep it from flying off but that wasn’t what had the priest’s rapt attention. He was unable to look away as the wind caught the bottom of Emma’s dress, blowing it up so she had to physically push the material down. He felt his body immediately tense at the flash of barely there red lace that was revealed along with an unobstructed view of long legs and a surge of desire he hadn’t felt in almost a decade shoot through him.

_Bloody hell!_


	2. Reflection on the Forbidden

Tying her freshly showered hair into a messy bun Emma made her way downstairs, heading directly for the kitchen.

She had barely contributed to her parent’s discussion while they ate lunch as her mind replayed that morning’s service over and over again. Her mother had noticed her inattentiveness and remarked on it but Emma had brushed it off as still being tired from the long drive the previous night, hastily excusing herself to go shower before her mother could ask any more questions. It wasn’t like she could tell her mother that she couldn’t stop thinking about a priest.

Emma groaned as she braced her hands on the granite kitchen counter. She was going to hell, that was all there was to it. She could still see those crystal blue eyes and the way his tongue had come out to lick his bottom lip obscenely as he stared at her. He had faltered slightly in his sermon as his eyes landed on her, a fact that apparently went unnoticed to all but her. The glance had been quick but Emma had been ogled enough in her life to know that look - the heat of blatant desire, the quick survey of her body from head to toe. Most of the time she ignored it or shot back with a witty remark that left the man looking like a drowning fish but there was something about the way he looked at her that had her cheeks flaming not with embarrassment or anger, but her own desire. And even though she had felt his heated gaze on her more than once after that she had refused to look at the hot priest for the rest of the service. 

Because God almighty was he fucking hot.

Meeting him hadn’t helped matters either. The way his mouth had wrapped around the word ‘pleasant’ with that lilting accent and quick flash of his tongue had sent a shiver of desire through her which had only been enhanced when his fingers brushed her palm almost teasingly. The fleeting contact had sent a bolt of desire straight to her belly so strong she had to press her thighs together to relieve the sudden ache and she knew was damned then. She had been turned on by a priest - however hot he may be - while stood right beside her parents and in the middle of a church.

Her grandmother was surely rolling over in her grave.

Wrenching a cabinet door open she took down one of her mother’s wine glasses and a bottle of Merlot from the fridge, pouring a liberal amount of the white liquid. She shouldn’t be thinking of him like this. She _couldn’t_ \- talk about the most forbidden type of man. He was a priest for Christ’s sake, a man who had vowed himself to God and who was untouchable, literally. It was just her hormones going crazy from not having had sex in a year - _fucking Walsh_ \- and she just needed an outlet for them. That was all this was - pent up sexual frustration being directed at the first attractive guy she saw which was unfortunately the one man she couldn’t have. 

“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?”

Emma turned at the sound of her father’s voice. He had changed out of his Sunday dress clothes, having shed the constricting tie while they were in the car, and into a simple pair of jeans and a dark blue t-shirt with _Storybrooke Police Department_ emblazoned on the front. His hands and forearms were covered in grease along with a smudge of it across his forehead, telling her he had been out in the garage working on his old pick up truck.

Taking a large sip of the chilled white wine she quipped, “It’s never too early for wine, dad.”

David chuckled as he made his way to the sink. Motioning for her to turn the tap on for him - her mother would kill him if he got grease all over the sink - he responded, “That’s a sentiment you and your mother seem to share.”

“About the only thing we do,” Emma muttered quietly before taking another sip of wine. Her mother and her got along for the most part but they were just completely different people at the end of the day. Mary Margaret was an eternal optimist whose life had been relatively pain free. She had lost her parents - her mother at the age of five and her father shortly after her and Emma’s dad were married - but she never spoke of them or any lingering pain and other than that the school teacher’s life had been perfect - a handsome husband who worshipped the very ground she walked on, a stable career, tons of friends, and a high standing within their community. Compared to Emma’s life her mother had lived a fairytale.

And Emma’s love life - or lack thereof - was a constant argument between mother and daughter.

“That isn’t strictly true, princess,” David sighed, scrubbing at the grime underneath his nails. “Your mother and you are more alike than you think. And she may not say it but you going to church with us this morning meant a lot to her.”

Swirling her wine around Emma hummed. “I only did it because it was the stipulation for me moving back in here, dad.”

“I know, and I know you’ve had your issues with the church in the past but I’m proud of you for going.” Squirting an extra dollop of soap onto his hands he asked, “What did you think of Father Jones?”

Almost dropping her wine glass Emma was glad her father’s attention was solely on cleaning his hands. How was she suppose to answer that, exactly? _I think he’s great, dad. Gorgeous, a pair of lips I’d like to bite and fingers I wouldn’t mind helping me see God with._ “He’s-” she bit her lip in thought. “He seems really young for the profession he’s chosen.”

David nodded. “He is but he’s passionate about God. At the end of the day I don’t care how young he is as long as he keeps giving sermons like today.”

 _Oh I bet he’s passionate._ “Mom seems to really like him.”

“She does. We’re both hoping his age will help bring some of the younger members of the community to church.”

 _His age may not but those looks certainly will._ She mentally berated herself for the thought. He’s a priest Emma! No matter how good looking he is you can’t keep thinking of him like this!

Taking another sip of wine for courage she said, “Speaking of church… I’m going to skip tonight’s Mass.”

Sighing David turned the water off and reached for one of his wife’s non-white hand towels. “You know your mother isn’t going to like that.”

“I know,” Emma began, sitting her wine glass down. “But I’ve been back in Storybrooke for less than twenty-four hours. I haven’t seen Ruby or Tink in five months until this morning and I haven’t properly spent time with them in years. I just want to catch up with them for old time’s sake. Besides, mom never stipulated _how_ many Masses I had to attend.”

David shot his daughter a knowing look. “Emma-”

“Dad, please,” she begged, putting on the face she knew her father had never been able to say no to. “I’ll owe you, _big time_.”

Chuckling David gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Alright, I’ll run interference with your mother. I can’t promise you still won’t get the Mary Margaret Nolan Guilt Trip but you did technically fulfil her stipulation this morning.”

“You’re the best,” she laughed, hugging her father fiercely. And he really was. Not only for being the best dad a girl could ask for but for understanding her in a way her mother seemed unable to. It was one of the reasons he had been the one she called not only a week ago when her life in New York had imploded but years ago as a scared teenager whose entire world had shifted forever. No matter what happened her father would always be there for her.

“I know,” David said ruefully, tossing the damp hand towel onto the counter. “Why don’t you invite the girls over here? Your mother and I will be out for Mass and I can take her out to dinner before hand to give you some privacy. A sleep over, like old times.”

Emma smiled. “Thanks dad, I will. I can’t promise we won’t go through the wine collection though.”

“That’s between you and your mother,” the sheriff laughed as he left the kitchen.

Picking up her glass Emma downed the rest of the wine. Just what she needed to take her mind off the hot priest - a girls night.

* * *

 

Straightening the last of the Bibles on the front pew Killian found his thoughts once again drifting to the blonde who had sat there that morning. He had barely been able to concentrate on his parishioners confessions, probably giving them less Hail Mary’s and absolution than he should have but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

He may have been a man of God but he could admit when a woman was beautiful and Emma Nolan was by far the most gorgeous of God’s creatures he had ever seen. It wasn’t even her physical beauty that had him so captivated but what he could see underneath it - the fire in her eyes, her strength of character - she was the type of woman a man cherished because of her rarity.

Not that he could cherish her. He had given up the right to be with a woman in any sense when he took his vows and had done so willingly - or hastily, if you asked Robin.

But he had never met a woman like Emma before. There was beauty there but an underlining of sadness, one that most people wouldn’t see but he saw it plain as day in those emerald depths. She had been hurt at some point in her life and the priest in him felt compelled to reach out to her, to pull back the layers and help her find peace with whatever troubled her. His Bishop in London had always said he had a gift for helping those who were lost, something about his own experience making others feel safe to open up to him, and although he had just met her he had the overwhelming urge to be her voice of compassion.

The man in him, however, couldn’t let go of that last image of her with her dress hiked up by the wind. And that lace…

Sighing in frustration Killian sat on the pew in between two Bibles, his head falling into his hands. He _could not_ think of that. He was a priest - _her_ priest, technically - and it was a sin for him to even let the first thought cross his mind. On top of that she was the sheriff’s daughter and David Nolan had never been anything but kind to him. The last thing he probably wanted was some pervy priest having impure thoughts about his child.

Because he had stopped his mind from going there but the temptation to do so was there, that scrap of lace and all it had bared stirring something in him that he thought died long ago. He hadn’t felt desire for a woman since Milah and the bolt that shot through him to his groin was overwhelming. He couldn’t do this though. It was improper, impure, and morally wrong.

Dropping to his knees there he clasped his hands together, eyes slamming shut as he began praying to God for forgiveness and strength. He didn’t know why Emma was affecting him like this but surely it was a test from God to see if he was being truthful about wanting to seek redemption. God always tested, perhaps this was his….

“Am I interrupting?”

Killian opened his eyes and turned to see his sister, Belle, stood midway down the aisle. She never failed to take his breath away with just how much she looked like their mother. She had the same delicate features, dark hair, and blue eyes that Isabelle Jones had and in her black skirt and white summer blouse could have passed for a younger version of the departed woman.

“Never,” he replied, rising swiftly and meeting her halfway in a tight hug. Pulling back he motioned to one of the pews. “How was your morning?”

“Uneventful,” Belle laughed as she took a seat. Sliding one of the Bible’s out of his way Killian sat next to her. “Almost everyone was at church this morning so the library was quite. Gave me time to finish organizing the back wall.”

“I noticed your absence.”

Belle shook her head, her long brunette locks swaying with the action. “I told you I’m not going to church where my _brother_ is the priest.”

“But I’m not your brother when I’m behind the confessional wall, Belle. Besides, where else are you going to go? Those that aren’t Catholic in Storybrooke worship at home or go to one of the neighbouring towns for service.”

“You are always my brother, no matter where you sit,” she said earnestly. “And if that’s the case then I’ll go to another town. I’m serious, Killian. I’m not going to confess my deepest and darkest sins to the priest who shares my DNA.”

“You know that you can though, right?” he asked, wanting her to know that despite the mantle of priesthood he had taken up he was still at his core the older brother who had been her confident for all those years.

“I do,” she whispered, bringing her hand up to cup his face affectionately. “But as a priest you know there are some things that are better confessed in the ambiguity of the confessional.”

Killian let out a very un-priest snort. “You do know that we can generally tell who is on the other side of that panel, right?”

“And that’s my point!” Belle laughed. “You’d know it was me. I don’t care if a stranger realises who I am because that stranger wasn’t the man who saw me through my most awkward years as a kid. It’s different.”

“I know,” Killian conceded with a nod. “I just don’t want you to ever think you can’t talk to me.”

Belle smiled at him. “I know I can. And I promise as long as it doesn’t involve my sins I will.” Tilting her head in a gesture he knew she had inherited from him she bit her lip. “That’s actually why I’m here.”

Feigning hurt he frowned. “So you didn’t stop by to see your devastatingly handsome brother for simply his company? I see how it is…”

Belle smacked his leg playfully. “Oh don’t start with me, _Father_ Jones. We have a standing lunch date every Sunday at Granny’s for that purpose. No, I wanted to come see you before we ate to talk to you… to see if…”

Killian frowned, suddenly worried. “Is everything okay? He hasn’t tried contacting you, has he?”

Belle immediately shook her head. “No. He probably still thinks I’m in Australia and the women I stayed with there wouldn’t tell him anything if he did find that location. But it is related to that. Sort of.”

“Belle you’re scaring me.”

Taking his hand she gave him her most sincere smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to. This is just a really big step for me.” Taking a deep breath she continued. “I wanted to see what you thought about me starting a survivor support group. Here, at the church.”

Killian let out the breath he didn’t realise he had been holding and the smile that lit up his face was genuine. “I think that is a wonderful idea, Belle. Truly. You’re right, this a huge step for you but a _positive_ one. Are you absolutely sure?”

Belle nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it for awhile. I briefly attended one when I was in Australia at your suggestion and it helped immensely. I haven’t really made many friends here and while I know that isn’t the proper setting _to_ make friends, I feel like it would give me a chance to open to people who have experienced similar things that I have.” Pausing she added, “It would also help me sort through my own emotions as you know I loath therapists. No offense to Dr. Hopper.”

Killian chuckled. “No I agree. What do you need from me?”

“Can you put some feelers out in the community and see if it’s something anyone would even be interested in? And if there is free up some church time once a week for the meeting?”

Killian nodded. “Of course. Anything you need, little sister.”

“Younger,” Belle automatically corrected with a playful stern look. It had been a running family joke between him and Liam growing up and one that had trickled down to his and Belle’s relationship. “You want to head on over to Granny’s now since I’m here?”

Remembering what had been plaguing his thoughts before her arrival he slowly shook his head. “You go on ahead. I’ve got a few things to finish up here and I’ll meet you there. Our usual booth.”

Hugging him tightly Belle stood up. “I’ll make sure Granny has your _hot_ tea ready for you.”

“Bloody well better be hot,” he muttered. “That cold and sugary concoction these Southerners claim is tea is just horrendous.”

Belle laughed, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before making her way out of the church. As soon as the door closed behind her Killian knelt, once again falling into prayer.

* * *

“So, what do you think about our fuckable priest, Em?”

Emma choked on her wine. “Ruby!”

The brunette laughed, her eyes gleaming. “Come on! Don’t tell me you don’t think he’s hot!”

“He’s a priest!” she spluttered, wiping wine off her chin.

“He is but he’s also a _very_ attractive man,” Ruby pointed out, taking a sip of her red wine. “Half the congregation is in love with him for his passionate sermons and the other half just want him between their legs.”

Emma groaned, her head falling into her free hand as Tink giggled. Her best friends were incorrigible. The two women had jumped at the idea of an adult sleepover, showing up thirty minutes after she had texted them with pizza and enough wine to insure all three of them woke up with headaches the next day. Her father had been right about her mother’s guilt trip but with him on Emma’s side Mary Margaret had relented - the fact David promised to take her to her favorite Italian place for dinner probably didn’t hurt matters.

Which is how she currently found herself sitting on her large childhood bed in a circle with two of her best friends, an empty box of pizza to the side and working on their second bottle of wine while Ruby brought up the _one_ person Emma was trying to forget.

“I can honestly say I hadn’t thought about him,” she lied, grateful not for the first time that her friends didn’t have her super power. “I didn’t really pay attention during service.”

Tink snorted. “Emma your eyes practically bugged out of your head when you saw him. Ruby and I saw you, remember? You noticed the good Father.”

“He’s okay." 

“Okay?!” Ruby cried, making a dramatic gesture with her non-wine holding hand. “Emma I know you were subjected to Walsh’s mediocre looks for four years but even you can’t deny that priest is one _fine_ clergyman. 

Rolling her eyes Emma sighed. Maybe a small amount of the truth would get her friends to change the subject. “Fine! Father Jones is attractive. Is that what you want to hear, Rubes?”

“Yep,” the brunette grinned. “Looks like there is hope for you yet Nolan!”

“Not with a priest!” Emma shrieked, eyes wide.

“Of course not with a priest,” Tink interjected with a wave of her hand. “You haven’t told us what happened with Walsh yet but it’s clear you aren’t together anymore. All Ruby means is that if you can find Father Jones attractive it means you’ve taken the first step in getting over Walsh.”

“How did-”

“You moved back to Storybrooke, Ems,” Ruby said, taking a deep pull from her wine glass. “You would _never_ move back here unless something major happened in New York and the only problem you had there was Walsh.”

Emma bit her lip as she looked down into her wine glass. While she hadn’t been keen on the idea to move back to Storybrooke - even though it was her idea - this was the part she had been dreading the most. Sighing deeply she looked up at her friends. 

“Walsh cheated on me.”

“He did _what?!_ ” both women cried. Emma nodded her head.

“I found out two days ago. Never would have discovered the truth but he slipped and left his phone on the kitchen counter while he was showering. Seeing a text message from ‘sexywitch80’ that read _I can’t wait to fuck you tonight_ kind of gave the game away.”

“Oh Emma,” Tink whispered, reaching out to grasp her friend’s arm. “I am so sorry.”

Emma shrugged. “Walsh and I were never a fairytale story. It had been four years and I still hadn’t told him I loved him.”

“Did you?” Ruby asked, genuinely curious.

“No,” Emma answered without hesitation. “I liked him and he was an important person to me when he wasn’t being an ass but love?” She shook her head. “There are still too many walls up from Neal for me to love someone.”

“That’s probably a saving grace. I mean, I know it hurts even without having loved him because you were with the guy for four years and you shared a life together. But it would have been so much worse if real emotions had been involved.”

“It had been going on for two years.”

“Seriously?” Tink asked, disgusted. Emma nodded.

“They met when she came to his furniture store for a consultation. Zelena is her name, I actually met her a few times.”

“What a pig,” Ruby growled. “You’re going to get tested, right?”

“I did yesterday which is why I was so late getting here. I’ll get the results back in a few weeks but Walsh and I hadn’t had sex in a year so….”

“Another saving grace,” Tink pointed out. “How did your dad handle the news?”

Emma smirked. “Threatened to shoot him with his shotgun. Walsh actually hid in the spare bedroom in fear that dad would drive up there.” 

Ruby snorted. “Your dad _is_ pretty terrifying when someone has hurt you, Ems. God help Neal Cassidy if he ever shows his face in this town again.”

The three of them laughed but Emma knew Ruby’s words were true. There were only four people who knew what truly happened between her and Neal on that summer night when she was seventeen: Ruby, Elsa, Tink, and her father. Not even her mother knew the truth, believing Neal and Emma had simply had a teenage spat and broken up. And as far as Emma was concerned that was all her mother would ever know about what happened.

The girls spent the rest of the night catching Emma up on town news. Elsa was in Norway with Anna visiting their grandparents and would arrive back in town within the week. Emma was ready to see the fourth member of their little group as Elsa had cancelled her last trip to New York seven months ago due to a cold. Ruby and Tink told her that Anna was neck deep in wedding planning and the entire town would just be happy when September rolled around and her and Kristoff were finally married. Ashley Boyd had apparently had a baby girl out of wedlock, a fact that most of the older members of the town shunned her for which only made Emma roll her eyes and apparently Regina and Robin had adopted a ten year old boy a few months back named Henry.

Two more bottles of wine later the three of them were a giggling mess, cheeks flushed and eyes bright from the over consumption of alcohol. Just as Emma heard her parents arrive home from evening Mass Ruby took a drunken swan dive off the side of the bed after she tried mimicking Anna wedding dress shopping, sending Emma and Tink into fits of laughter. When David stuck his head in the room he looked at the three girls and simply shook his head, letting them know he and Mary Margaret were going to bed and to try to keep it down as much as possible.

An hour later the three of them were playing Twister - badly, with Tink trying to play the game on Emma’s patchwork quilt instead of the actual game board in her drunken state - when Ruby suddenly shot up from her downward facing dog position on the Twister map.

“Let’s watch a movie!”

Emma, who was in wobbly lunge with her upper body stretched out to the right so her right hand could hit a yellow dot, drunkenly scowled at her friend. “You’re only saying that because I was winning!” 

“Were not.”

“Am too!”

“Sorry, but-” - _hiccup!_ \- “-I’m winning!” Tink shouted from her kneeling position on Emma’s bed, looking at her best friends through her legs. 

“You aren’t even playing on the right map,” Ruby huffed as she stood up and stumbled her way to Emma’s DVD shelf. “Any suggestions? Oh! Dances With Wolves!”

“Too long,” came Tink’s mumbled reply as she repositioned herself into a sitting position on the bed. “Hook?”

“Oh God no,” Emma groaned as she her body collapsed onto the Twister map. “I _hate_ Julia Roberts in that movie.” Lifting her head off the floor she stared blearily at Ruby. “The Princess Bride?” 

Ruby and Tink shouted in agreement and as Ruby put one of Emma’s most cherished possessions in her DVD player - fourth time was the charm - Emma pulled herself from the floor to her bed, burrowing under the heavy quilt. Tink was the first to succumb to sleep, nodding off before Westley had even left to seek his fortune with Ruby not far behind her, the brunette's snores almost out drowning the witty exchange between Westley and Vizzini.

Emma herself lasted until Westley and Buttercup emerged from the Fire Swamp, her eyes closing as images of a blue eyed pirate whisking her away into the sunset filled her dreams. 


	3. Hangovers and Catch Ups

Emma groaned as she forced her eyes open, instantly slamming them shut against the bright sunlight filtering into her room. Her head felt like there was a small gnome running around poking her brain with a pitchfork and she was certain her mouth had never felt so damn dry in her life. A hangover. A fucking hangover. She hadn’t had a hangover in five years, the last time being when… oh, _yeah_. When Ruby, Tink, and Elsa had come to New York for New Year’s Eve and they’d watch the ball drop from her apartment. Six months before she had walked into Walsh’s furniture shop looking to replace the coffee table Elsa, in a rare moment of inebriation, had broken as she attempted to do the _Cha-cha-cha_.

Attempting to roll away from the sun she was met by an unmoving body that groaned.

“Must you flop around like a fish out of water when my head is killing me?” 

“Your head?” Emma whisper hissed at the mass of tangled brunette hair next to her. “Mine is trying to keep beat with my own heart right now.”

“ _Will_ the two of you shut up,” came Tink’s grumbled reply from the other side of the bed. “Some of us are trying to sleep a hangover off.”

“I don’t think sleeping is going to cure this one, Tink,” Ruby sighed. Emma watched through pain narrowed eyes as Ruby pushed her tousled hair out of her face, instantly regretting the decision as her eyes came fully into contact with the morning sun. “Who the fuck opened the curtains?”

“Probably my mother as penance for our late night antics,” Emma muttered. She wasn’t sure who she was going to kill first - her mother for letting that foul light into her room, the two women laid next to her for bringing enough wine to get an entire Navy ship drunk, or herself for actually drinking as much as she did. “Come on,” she sighed reluctantly as she threw the bed cover off herself. “None of us are going to feel better until we get some coffee and food in us.” 

Tink’s head lifted off one of the pillows, her immaculate bun from the previous day half coming undone to flop on the side of her head. “Are you coherent enough to cook because I sure as hell am not.”

“Granny’s To-Go,” Ruby moaned as she sat up, her fingers going straight to her temples in an attempt to ease her headache. “Call it in and get Sneezy to deliver.”

Emma stopped in her pursuit of walking to her window to close the curtains to look back at her dark haired friend. “Sneezy… wait, you mean Michael?”

“That’s the one,” grumbled Tink. 

“Once he hit middle age his allergies went off the charts,” Ruby explained. “Granny kindly bestowed the nickname on him.”

Yanking her curtains closed Emma said, “Come on Sleeping Beautys, enough chit chat. We need food and coffee. Not necessarily in that order.”

There was a pair of groans from her bed but the two women disentangled themselves from the bed cover and the three of them slowly made their way down the three story house. Halfway down the second flight of stairs Emma caught the unmistakable smell of bacon and she practically drooled. Walking into the kitchen the three of them saw David stood at the stove, flipping pancakes and turning bacon over with ease.

“Dad?” Emma asked, more than a little confused as to why her father was home on a weekday morning. For as long as she could remember he worked Monday through Friday, six AM to three PM although the sheriff of Storybrooke was more than willing to pull the odd night and double shift if his deputies needed him to. David turned at the sound of his daughter’s voice, giving the three women who probably looked like they came out the bad end of a fight with a hedgehog a beaming smile.

“Morning ladies. Breakfast?”

“Coffee.” Tink moaned as she tried in vain to get her hair bow out of her tangled hair. David laughed softly as he pointed to the already full coffee pot to his right with his spatula.

“You girls have been here enough to know where we keep the cups. Anyone up for some hashbrowns?” The trio of moans had him reaching for the bag of potatoes his wife kept on the counter.

Emma, Ruby, and Tink made their coffees like zombies with Tink almost dropping her mug on her head as she tried to extract it from the cabinet and Emma coming close to burning her own hand as she poured her coffee. Morning elixir secured the three women took a seat at the kitchen island where three plates, silverware, and glasses of orange juice already sat waiting for them.

“Dad why aren’t you at work?” Emma asked after she had allowed herself a few tentative sips of the hot beverage. 

“Graham needs Friday night off so he volunteered to pull a double today so I could cover for him that night.” Turning to wink at his daughter he added, “I also know how you get when you’re hungover so I thought it best to prepare the world against you three.”

“You’re a good man, Mr. Nolan,” Tink mumbled with her face practically shoved into her coffee mug. Ruby nodded her agreement, wincing as the movement caused the pain in her head to intensify.

“Only the best for my girls,” the sheriff responded as he went about dishing out pancakes, bacon, and hashbrowns onto all three plates. Emma thought she couldn’t love her father more but when he pulled a bottle of Tylenol from his back pocket she was sure she would be singing his praise for the rest of her life.

“Thanks dad, for everything,” she said as she popped a few pills into her mouth and chased it down with a hearty swig of her orange juice before handing the bottle off to Ruby. David simply smiled at his daughter.

“Anything for you, princess. Now that I have the three of you square away I’m going to go work on my truck for awhile before I have to head into town.” With a quick kiss to Emma’s messy hair and a wave to the other women he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and headed out through the kitchen’s sliding glass door.

The three of them ate in silence, their knives scraping their plates the only sound that filled the kitchen for long minutes. Tink went back for a second round of coffee and when Ruby got up to get her own she topped Emma’s off, the waitress in her somehow coordinated enough to do so without spilling any. Emma found herself smiling as she ate a mouthful of her father’s famous pancakes. This was what she had been feeling yesterday at the church while talking to Ruby and Tink, what she had missed without even realising it. 

The four of them - her, Ruby, Tink, and Elsa - had been best-friends since they were little girls. Their mothers had went to school together and their daughters had been born within the same five months of each other. Emma couldn’t remember a time when the three women hadn’t been a part of her life, sharing everything from skint knees to heartbreak. They had been her constant rock through the entire Neal debacle and her only source of real happiness while she had lived in New York.

She didn’t hate New York. In fact she loved the city - how it never slept, the unlimited amount of things to do and see, meeting new people every day - but it had been missing _this_. New York wasn’t Ruby’s constant innuendos and trying to get everyone laid, Tink’s ability to look at a situation and make a non-emotional decision or Elsa’s unwavering morality that kept them all in line. Emma may hate Storybrooke and all the small town stood for but these three women… she needed them.

Finishing off the last of her coffee she turned to the two women who were looking a little less like the living dead. “Any plans for the day?”

“More sleep,” Ruby sighed, polishing off her bacon. “I have a night shift at the diner tonight.”

“Well that sucks.” 

“The life or a responsible adult,” the brunette quipped. “What about you, Tink?”

Tink shrugged. “I’m free. What did you have in mind, Ems?”

“I don’t know… girl’s day? Do some shopping, just generally hanging out. Don’t you have to work at the beauty salon?”

Tink grinned. “Perks of being an owner, my friend.”

* * *

Killian walked down Main Street, gingerly sipping at the coffee in his hand and waving as people greeted him. It was only a little past eleven in the morning but the heat index was already well into the nineties, the humidity making it feel more like 105. He wished he could dress in something less stifling, his black dress pants and shirt making him feel like he was wearing a winter jacket but as a priest he had an image he had to project to the community.

Even if it did almost kill him.

He had spent the rest of yesterday before Sunday night Mass praying and keeping busy so his mind didn’t wander to forbidden thoughts. For the most part it worked and he was able to knock out this coming Sunday’s morning sermon in record time but the image of red lace still trickled into this thoughts and he hadn’t been surprised when he awoke that morning with a rather severe morning erection. It wasn’t the first time it had happened - it was a natural response for the male body but he had never been so tempted to relieve the ache himself in his eight years of priesthood.

The cold shower before his morning run had taken the edge off and determined to not fall prey to his thoughts another day had made it a point to go out where his thoughts were less tempted to wander. 

Nearing the corner where Robin’s pub sat he had to fight the urge to turn around and run when he saw Sheriff Nolan walking toward him. _He doesn’t know you’ve been thinking of his daughter’s perfect butt wrapped in that red thong, Killian. Get yourself together!_ Shaking the image away he smiled as the Sheriff came to a stop in front of him.

“You’re out and about early, Father.”

Killian nodded, hoping the sweat he could feel trickling down his neck was from the heat and not nerves. “Trying to enjoy the town before the heat keeps me locked in the church, sheriff. You’re a brave man to be out of that cool station.”

David laughed, hands going to his hips where his badge rested. “I’m actually off today. Deputy Graham is on duty and I’m sure enjoying the comfort. The church isn’t exactly Antarctica though and the heat is only going to get worse.”

“Aye, I’m on my way now to see if Robin knows anyone who could install a unit. The last thing I want is a parishioner dropping during Mass this summer.”

Chuckling David replied, “We’re use to the heat, Father. For as long as I can remember we’ve sweated our butts off while praying to the Lord during June and July.”

Killian smiled. “Perhaps so _I_ don’t drop during Mass then.”

“Wouldn’t do to have the priest unable to perform his sermon.” David clapped him on the shoulder. “I won’t keep you. I just needed to pop to the auto shop for a part for my truck.”

“Of course, I’ll see you around sheriff.”

Killian breathed an audible sigh of relief as the two men parted ways, sending a silent prayer up to God that his impure thoughts had been relatively quiet. Quickly making his way across the street he entered _The Black Lion_ , his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. The pub was almost empty with it being a weekday morning, only a few patrons sitting at one end of the bar watching the news.

“Kill- Father?”

Killian turned to see his best friend coming out of a back room, a heavy box in his arms. He had met Robin Loxley while they were in secondary school, the teenage boys instantly bonding over a shared love of football. They had been friends ever since. Robin was the only person other than Belle that had seen Killian through his falling out with Milah and then Liam’s death. While Belle had quietly accepted her brother’s decision to join the priesthood Robin had pushed his friend to reconsider, knowing that Killian initially had only joined as a way to attone for his guilt over Liam. He had never really adjusted to losing his best friend to the cloth but once Killian had made the full dive Robin had been nothing but supportive.

Smirking at his friend Killian replied, “You can still call me Killian, Robin. I may be a priest but I’m still your friend.”

Robin chuckled, moving behind the bar to sit the box of alcohol down. “There is a difference, mate. You aren’t the same man who use to go on drinking binges with me when you were on shore leave.”

“True,” Killian conceded as he took a seat at the bar. “But you aren’t that man anymore either. You’re a husband and father now.”

“That I am,” Robin grinned. “Looks like we’ve both changed since our bar closing youth.”

Indeed they were. Robin had moved to the States five years ago for a fresh start after his fiance, Marion, had been killed in a car accident. He’d somehow landed in the little town of Storybrooke and opened up _The Black Lion_ , telling Killian in an email that this area of the South was lacking in a true British pub. The former locksmith had done well for himself, both in business and in love. Killian knew his relationship with Regina had started tensely, the mayor unsure about a pub sprouting up in her town but over the course of the next two years they had grown close and eventually gotten married, adopting a boy a month back.

“I am sorry for missing the wedding-”

Robin quickly waved his hand. “You were helping get Belle out of England and away from that bastard, Killian. I love her like my own sister and I completely understand.”

Killian gave his friend a smile of thanks. “How is fatherhood going for you?”

He didn’t miss the twinkle that lit up Robin’s blue eyes. Turning to retrieve two tumblrs and a bottle of water from the shelf behind him Robin spoke. “It’s… bloody magnificent, mate. Truly. It doesn’t even matter that Henry isn’t biologically mine or Regina’s. He _feels_ like he is. And he seems to be adjusting well, grateful to be out of the system.”

“Adoption is a wonderful thing,” Killian replied, gratefully accepting the glass of water. After taking a hearty sip he sat the tumblr back down. “I must confess I didn’t come to just catch up.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one confessing to you?”

A dark eyebrow rose. “Technically, yes. But you seem to have the same aversion to my church that my sister has.”

“Lady Belle _does_ make a fine point,” Robin pointed out. “You’ve seen me so drunk I ran through Hyde Park naked as the day I was born. It just feels a little weird, mate.”

Killian nodded in understanding. “Aye, and I understand. I just hope you and Belle know you can still come to me if you need anything… despite the white collar I now wear. 

“We do,” Robin affirmed. “Now, what else can I help you with?”

* * *

 

“I’ve missed this.”

Emma swallowed the spoonful of rocky road ice cream and smiled across the table at Tink. “Me too. I’m sorry-”

“Emma, you have nothing to apologize for,” the other blonde soothed. “You had to get away from Storybrooke after that summer and none of us hold it against you. We know what Neal put you through.”

Emma nodded. “Being back here though… I feel guilty for essentially running away from it all, Tink. Including the three of you.”

“But you didn’t,” Tink quickly replied, “Not really. Ruby, Elsa, and I visited you in New York often enough and we kept in contact when we couldn’t. If you had run away from us you wouldn’t have stayed in communication or ever came back for a visit.”

“True, but that doesn’t take away how I feel…. but I am happy we did this today.”

And she truly was. After dropping Ruby off at her apartment the two of them had hit almost every shop in town, even going so far as to spend an hour in Gold’s pawn shop despite the fact the man had had the same stock since they were little girls. Both of them had so many bags in the back of Emma’s yellow bug that you would have thought they had went Christmas shopping - although Emma fully intended to make the bird house she had bought at the pawn shop one of her mother’s Christmas gifts. After spending hours on their feet the two blonde had decided to treat themselves to ice cream and had made a beeline for Ingrid’s Any Given Sundae where they now sat, enjoying rapidly disappearing bowls of ice cream.

Tink smiled. “Me too. Too bad Ruby had to work tonight and Elsa is out of the country.”

“Hopefully I have a job by the time Elsa returns.”

“How is that going, by the way?” Tink asked, continuing to spoon at the melted ice cream in her bowl. 

“It’s not,” Emma replied honestly. “I can’t exactly continue what I was doing in New York. It’s not like Storybrooke is overflowing with people running on bail.”

Tink laughed. “True. I can’t remember the last time someone was arrested _other_ than Scarlet.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “He’s still causing trouble?”

“You know Will. It’s like him and your dad have this game of how many times Will can get himself arrested.” Sitting her empty bowl down Tink tilted her head. “What about coming to the salon?”

Emma looked at her friend. “I love you dearly Tink and thank you, but I’d go stir crazy… and I don’t know the first thing about cutting hair." 

“They have a school for that, Em.”

“And have my mother become more disappointed in me?”

Tink frowned. “Mary Margaret isn’t-”

“Yes she is,” Emma sighed, wiping her sticky hands with one of the wet naps Ingrid graciously provided. “She’s always been disappointed that I didn’t go to college and become a school teacher like her. 

Tink smirked. “No, instead you followed in your father’s footsteps of catching bad guys.” Her eyes lit up. “What about going to work for you dad?”

“Didn’t we establish Storybrooke doesn’t have people who jump bail?”

“Yes, but you could become a deputy! I know it’s not the same thrill but it’ll be in the same line of work you were doing. And far more stimulating than any other job you could find here.”

“I don’t know…” The idea was tempting. She had spent most of her childhood in the sheriff’s station with her father and Tink was right, the idea of taking down bad guys like her dad had lead her to become a bail bondsman in New York. Maybe it was an option for her.

“Well you don’t have to decide today and right now more shopping, manicures, and pedicures are calling our names.”

She looked at her blonde friend incredulously. “We just spent the morning shopping!”

Standing Tink grabbed her purse and with a wave to Ingrid pulled Emma up from the booth. “And I need a dress for the Mayor’s Gala in August and unless I’ve spent my whole life around another woman, your mother is going to want you to have one too.”

* * *

 

Five hours later Emma pushed the door to Granny’s Diner open, the tinkling doorbell flooding her with childhood memories of birthday parties, celebrations, and grilled cheese sandwiches with her father. The diner was a staple of her childhood - always warm and filled with the scents of Granny’s home cooking. She had made sure to stop in at least once her previous visits back home but they had been quick and she hadn’t really taken the time admire one of the hallmarks of their little town.

Her eyebrows nearly rose to her hairline when she saw Ruby leaning over one of the diner’s tables. Her friend was wearing a barely there white skirt with a short sleeved white t-shirt tied off right underneath her breasts and towering red heels. No wonder Granny made her go to church every Sunday!

Hearing the tinkle of the doorbell Ruby looked up and smiled brightly at the two blondes stood in the doorway.

“Emma! Tink! What are you guys doing here?”

“Well I was coming to get diner but I don’t know if I can eat with all that skin on display, Rubes.”

The brunette laughed, sauntering toward them as she balanced a tray on her right hand. “You’ve seen me in far less, Ems.” Emma rolled her eyes at the salacious wink her friend gave her. “Besides, it keeps the male customers coming.”

“Oh I’m sure it does,” Tink mumbled, leading Emma to chuckle. Some things never changed.

“You guys want a booth or table?”

“Booth,” both blondes answered at the same time.

As Ruby started to lead them toward a booth that Emma was certain was the same one they had all sat around after a horrible prom night she stopped suddenly and turned.

“Oh shoot I left my cell in the-”

She let out an undignified _umpf!_ as she collided with a hard body, her hands automatically going to the person’s chest to hold herself steady. God she was such a klutz. She hadn’t been home forty-eight hours and she was already running into people….

“Apologizes, lass- Miss Nolan?”

Emma’s eyes shot up to her klutz attack victim, startled green eyes meeting confused blue as she looked into the face of Father Jones. God he was even more handsome from this angle and she noticed in the dimmer light of the diner a small scar on his right cheek. If anything it only added to his good looks rather than taking away from them.

And then she realised just how close they were.

Her hands rested on his chest and God help her she could feel the hardness of his muscles beneath the dress shirt and the good Father was _toned._ She became acutely aware of his hands on her waist, warm and almost branding her through her thin tank top. He also smelled divine - a hint of something spicy mixed with mint and that smell that was so unique to men. His eyes were fixed on her face, his lips parted slightly. Oh this was not good. Not at all. She had to get rip roaring drunk the night before to take her mind off him because he was a _priest_ for God’s sake! How was she suppose to function knowing how he smelled and what his chest felt like?!

“Father Jones,” she breathed, embarrassed at how breathless she sounded.

Her saying his name must have snapped the Father out of his trance because his hands instantly dropped from her waist and he took a full two steps back from her, face falling in guilt.

“I’m-Im so sorry…”

She quickly shook her head, her heart still racing at the hardness she had felt beneath her palms. “Completely my fault, Father. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” She offered him a sincere smile, hoping to relieve him of any negative feelings. “I’m a world class klutz, just ask my friends.”

“She’s right, Father Jones,” Tink chimed in with a smile in her voice. “You should have seen her in high school. She nearly took out an entire row of football fans at one of the home games.”

“And almost fell down the stairs at graduation…”

Emma glared at her two friends over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Must we list all my embarrassing moments?”

Ruby shrugged, grinning in innocence. “We were just giving the Father examples of how you are, in fact, a klutz Ems.”

Emma hummed, turning back to the priest and noticing he looked a little less guilty and almost delighted at the turn of conversation.

“Really, it was my fault Father Jones. I should be the one apologizing to you.”

The priest shook his head, a smile brightening his thoughtful face. “No apology necessary, Miss Nolan. I shouldn’t have been so focused on getting to Granny’s lasagna and more on my surroundings.”

“Granny’s lasagna _is_ pretty damned good.” Her eyes widened as she realised what she had said and in front of who. “I am so sorry Father-”

His deep chuckle sent a bolt of something she refused to call desire down her spine. “No worries, lass. Although a man of the cloth I am, I wasn’t always.”

 _Well that’s intriguing._ “Still,” she began, “My mother would have a heart attack if she found out I’d cussed in front of a priest.”

One dark eyebrow rose and his blue eyes twinkled mischievously. “Well it’ll just be our little secret, Miss Nolan,” he murmured, his voice going deeper. With a nod to her he turned and headed for the counter, instantly striking up a conversation with Granny. 

Emma stood rooted to the spot for a few seconds, completely taken off guard by the priest’s last remark. Was he _flirting_ with her? No… that was insane. He was a priest, the last thing he would be doing was flirting. Clearly she needed to get rid of her sexual frustration if she was beginning to think a priest was flirting with her.

Cell phone forgotten she turned back towards her friends, noticing neither had witnessed the final exchange with Tink already sitting in the booth and Ruby chatting with her about her day. Taking the seat across from Tink she half listened to her friend’s conversation, her eyes glancing toward the priest every so often. He was still talking to Granny with his back to her and her eyes _did not_ wander down to his ass in those perfectly fitted dress pants.

Seriously how did a priest have that fine of an ass. 

“What do you think, Emma?” 

Snapping her head back to her friends she looked between the two of them. “Sorry, I zoned out there for a few seconds. What do I think about what?”

“About us going to the Rabbit Hole one Saturday,” Ruby answered.

“Oh, um….” Emma’s eyes darted back to Father Jones, watching him take a Granny’s-To-Go bag from the Widow Lucas before leaving the diner without a glance backwards. “Sure. We’ll have to pick a Saturday and make another girl’s night of it.”

“Without the wine this time.”

“It’s not a girl’s night without wine, Tink,” Ruby admonished as she turned to put in their orders she knew by heart. She paused before going far, turning back to her two friends with her brows furrowed. “Just maybe not as much this time,” she conceded.


	4. The Beginning of the Forbidden Path

 

_What in the bloody hell had he been thinking?_

Killian shook his head in aggravation, his feet pounding the pavement even harder to Michael Jackson's _They Don't Care About Us_. It had been four days since his run in with Emma Nolan at Granny's Diner, four sleepless nights as his dreams were plagued by her, and four mornings of waking up with a raging erection that tested his faith and resolve. The temptation to take himself in hand and relieve the ache of desire had never been stronger and cold showers were fast becoming a part of his morning routine just so he could function. He had thought that fleeting glance of lace had been bad enough but now he knew what she smelled like - vanilla with a hint of cinnamon - and he could still feel the curve of her waist beneath his hand.

The worst part was he had flirtedwith her. He had no idea where that had come from - he hadn't flirted with a woman since Milah - but she stirred something in him and before he could stop himself the words had fallen from his lips, innuendo dripping from them. The confusion in her eyes had been immediate and he had quickly detached himself from the situation, mentally berating himself for slipping back into old habits as Granny readied his dinner order.

Coming to a stop next to the small pond Killian braced his hands on his knees, breathing ragged in the already humid morning air. He had to remind himself there was a reason he had joined the priesthood and that reason was never going to go away, that there was no redemption for his part in his brother's death if he allowed himself to stray from the vows he had taken. He couldn't give in to temptation - no matter how beautiful and alluring she may be. He had been tempted before - not sexually, but the temptation to pummel Belle's ex boyfriend's face in after the last incident had been just as strong, one that had required him putting his fist through a door to temper it. This was just another way for God to test him, to insure the silent vows said to Him years ago were being upheld.

What was it Corinthians said? _No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it._ God would not have given him this test if He thought he would fail. Many priests dealt with this, he thought, he just needed to find a way to push past the desire until it was nothing more than a distant memory.

Sighing he straightened and headed down the winding path that lead to the church, noting the time on his watch. 6:15 am. He should have enough time for a shower, breakfast, and morning prayers before he needed to head to the Nolan house. He wasn't sure what the Sheriff's wife wanted to discuss but she had been insistent that he come to the house to talk and he had learned shortly after taking over the parish not to argue with the petite elementary school teacher. He knew it was inviting temptation since Emma could be there but he hadn't seen her around town since their run in at the diner - not that he had been actively looking for the beautiful blonde - he had simply taken notice of her lack of presence on his daily outings. Perhaps she wouldn't be there. He didn't even know what the young Nolan did for a living and for all he knew she could be at work. It was a weekday, after all.

As the final notes of the songplayed through his earphones he shook his head. It didn't matter what Emma Nolan was or wasn't doing. He had to stop thinking about her or he would never overcome the temptation God had placed in front of him.

He wouldn't fall to the same fate that Eve had in the Garden of Eden.

* * *

Looking at her alarm clock as she pulled on her favorite pair of cut off shorts Emma groaned at the blinking red numbers that read 9:30 AM.

She had spent the last four days on the road encased in her father's truck with one over energetic Ruby as the two women drove to New York to pick up the rest of Emma's things. It wasn't like there was much left - she had left Storybrooke 10 years ago with nothing more than a backpack full of belongings and everything of importance had come with her in her bug from New York the previous Saturday - but there were items she wanted for practical reasons and the sooner she closed that chapter of her life, the better. So she had called Ruby up early Tuesday morning to ask if she wanted a free trip to New York - there was no way in _hell_ Emma was driving twelve hours with her mother, no matter how much she loved her - and luckily the brunette had been able to switch her shifts at the diner with a few other girls to get the time off.

Her father had insisted they take his truck and as much as Emma hated driving stick shift it had been a brilliant idea on her father's part since there were key pieces of furniture Emma wanted but didn't want to leave in a New York storage unit. They had driven six hours that first day with Emma almost strangling a sugar-highed Ruby before grabbing a hotel in Richmond, Virginia for the night. They managed an early start the next morning - although Ruby had to bribe Emma with bear claws and coffee to get her on the road before seven in the morning - and arrived in New York around lunch time.

Walsh had already moved his things out into Zelena's Upper East Side apartment and Emma had breathed a sigh of relief that he had apparently not been a _complete_ dick and taken items that weren't his. It had taken her and Ruby less than four hours to pack everything into the bed of her father's truck - including the forty-five minutes Ruby had spent in her closet refusing to let Emma just throw away her slinky night-on-the-town dresses. Emma had pointed out to her friend there was absolutely _no where_ in Storybrooke she could wear those but her friend had waved her away with a red manicured hand, insisting that they could be worn on a date at the very least.

A date. Right.

Not that Emma was opposed to dating so soon after her relationship with Walsh had ended - their relationship ending hadn't caused her emotional turmoil, just a sense of relief that it was finally over - but dating someone was the furthest thing from her mind. No, her mind was firmly locked on a particular blue eyed priest who was as off limits to her as carnal knowledge was to the Pope.

She hadn't been able to stop thinking about him even with the distraction of going to New York, images and fantasies sneaking up on her in the rare moments of silence from Ruby and in her dreams. _God, her dreams._ She had awoken the morning after her run-in with Father Jones from a dream that had her pulse racing and lower body throbbing, faded images of sweat soaked bodies and a wicked mouth playing over and over again in her mind. She had been tempted to run her own hands down her body and relieve the ache, had even gotten so far as her stomach when one blaring thought had abruptly stopped her, head clearing of all erotic thought.

He was a priest. While he may be mouth wateringly attractive he was still a man of the cloth and her Southern upbringing had her feeling ashamed that she would even _dream_ of him in such a scandalous way. She had quickly dressed, ignoring the need to find release and opting to retrieve the rest of her belongings from New York as a distraction from thinking about the handsome priest.

The dreams hadn't stopped though and it was partially why Emma currently found herself glaring at her alarm clock in mild agitation. Another explicit dream of her riding the good priest in the confessional had awoken her that morning and coupled with only having seven hours of sleep after a twelve hour car ride - she was cursing Ruby's insistence they toast good riddance to Walsh with multiple bottles of wine, resulting in them not leaving New York until almost noon on Thursday, way behind schedule - meant Emma was in no mood to face the world.

But she had to. She needed to unload her father's truck since they had gotten in too late the previous night to do it and although she wasn't still completely sold on the idea, she needed to speak to her father about a job at the sheriff's station. Emma knew her parents weren't overly concerned with her finding a job immediately but she had never been a moocher, hadn't been raised to be one, and if she ever wanted to move out of her childhood bedroom a job was number one on the priority list.

Figuring a large cup of coffee was in order before anything else she threw on a black tank top and headed downstairs, pulling her hair up in a high ponytail as she went. She had checked the weather before jumping in the shower - another blistering summer day of 98 degrees with high humidity - and there was no way she was driving her non-air conditioned bug with her hair down. Rounding the corner into the living room she found her thoughts shifting from environmental heat to a heat that curled low in her belly at the sight before her.

Father Jones was stood in her living room with his back to her, engrossed on the slew of pictures her mother had scattered along the fireplace mantle. He was dressed in those black dress slacks again that hugged his ass so well, this time paired with a dark purple dress shirt that stretched enticingly over his broad shoulders with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hands were shoved into his pants pockets and she watched as he tilted his dark head to the side, studying a silver framed picture of her, Ruby, Elsa, and Tink on the night of their Senior prom.

_Was it really necessary for him to look that enticing simply stood in her living room?_

She quickly shook her head at the thought. _Priest, Emma! Fucking priest!_ She must have made a noise because he turned then and she felt her mouth water. He looked like a playboy millionaire who should be on the front cover of GQ - the white collar at his throat aside, of course.

"Miss Nolan?"

"Father Jones," she greeted, proud that her voice sounded more steady than she felt in that moment. "What are you doing here?"

Blue eyes stared at her for a long second before he shook his head. "You're ah- you're mother asked me to stop by to help her plan the annual marching band bake sale."

Oh. "Isn't that going a bit above and beyond your normal duties?"

The priest chuckled and she tried to ignore how the sound flamed the heat already coursing through her. "Perhaps, but there was apparently a mishap with the normal location it is held in and your mother wanted to use the church fellowship hall."

She laughed. "Sounds like my mother, planning ahead for an event that doesn't take place for another month."

"Indeed," Father Jones agreed with a smile. "Normally the church secretary would handle the matter but the position is currently vacant so the matter fell directly to me to help your mother."

Emma frowned. "Mrs. Potts isn't at the church anymore?"

Father Jones shook his head sadly. "She passed away from cancer shortly after Father Merlin left."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she mummered. "She use to babysit me during the week when mom and dad's work schedules overlapped. She was a sweet woman."

"That she was," Father Jones nodded, making the sign of the cross. Emma's eyes were instantly drawn to his chest by the movement and her fingers subconsciously twitched as she remembered how firm the muscles had felt beneath her hands the other day. _God she was going to Hell._

"I haven't seen you around town the last few days."

Emma's eyes jerked back up to the priest's face and she could have sworn she saw a small smirk tug at his lips.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said, I haven't seen you around town the last few days."

"Oh… Yeah. Ruby and I were in New York."

"A sight seeing girl's trip?"

"Something like that," Emma replied evasively, suddenly feeling vulnerable under the priest's intense and knowing gaze. She nodded at the rows of pictures behind him, "I see you found my mom's greatest weakness."

Father Jones turned to look back at the pictures. "Ah, yes," He said, smiling as she came to stand slightly in front and to the side of him. "There are many memories here."

"There wasn't a moment of my life my mom didn't document through a camera lense," Emma said, her eyes running over the silver and golden frames. And it was true. While Emma and her mother had their differences and butted heads more often than not, there wasn't a single milestone or school event Mary Margaret Nolan hadn't been there for, camera at the ready. Even the mundane moments like her parents surprising her outside the high school with her yellow bug for her sixteenth birthday had been captured, that picture now sitting proudly on Emma's vanity upstairs.

She smiled as she brought her hand up to tap at another mundane moment her mother had managed to photograph. A three year old Emma was in her father's arms in front of Once Upon A Time, Storybrooke's local movie theatre, bundled in an oversized pink winter jacket. "This one was from when my parents took me to see The Sword and the Stone." Father Jones moved closer to look at the picture in question and Emma was suddenly cursing her decision to get near the priest.

She could feel the heat radiating from him as he stepped fully behind her, almost leaning over her shoulder. There was the barest brush from his dress shirt against her bare shoulder and she couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through her at the sensation. His scent enveloped her, pulling at the coil of heat that had yet to die down since she saw him and her breathing sped up, heart pounding in her chest.

"Adorable," he mummered deeply, his breath tickling the side of her neck. She saw his right hand come up out of the corner of her eye, one long finger running down a black framed photo. "And this one is… bewitching. What was the occasion?"

Emma instantly recognized the picture. It was from her first year in New York and one of the few pictures her mother hadn't taken herself but one Elsa or Tink must have given her. An eighteen year old Emma stood in the living room of her first apartment in a barely there shimmering green dress, looking at the camera over her shoulder and showcasing the very low cut back of the dress. It had been Ruby's eighteenth birthday celebration, one of the few times all three of her best-friends had come to New York at the same time.

"Ruby's birthday," she responded and there was no way she could hide how breathless she sounded or the involuntary sway backwards until she could just feel the softness of his dress shirt along the rest of her exposed skin. He hummed quietly, the sound loud because of his nearness to her ear..

"Yes, very bewitching."

She half turned then, trapped between him and the fireplace and she couldn't say she minded the feeling. She had always hated when Walsh cornered her like this even for sexual reasons, that deep seeded need to run and have space that she had acquired at seventeen almost clawing at her. But it was nowhere in sight now. The air in the room had changed, tension crackling between them and her breath hitched as she watched the blue of his eyes darken. They flickered down to her lips and images from her dreams assaulted her - the feel of them pressing against her own, the barest brush of them as he made his way down her body - and the coil of heat became unbearable, her entire body aching for release.

Screw the fact he was a priest. She wanted him and by the midnight hue of his eyes and ragged breathing he wanted her too, however wrong it may be. All she had to do was lean forward a few inches and kiss him. Just a few inches…

"Emma are you in there?"

Emma and Father Jones jerked away from each other at the sound of her mother's voice coming from the kitchen and Emma didn't know whether to curse or thank her mother's horrible timing. The raven haired school teacher appeared in the doorway seconds later, smiling and with her iPad in hand.

"Oh, there you are!" she said brightly as she walked towards her daughter and the priest. "You weren't in your room and I wasn't sure if you had left the house yet."

"No, not yet," Emma responded, trying to sound nonchalant as possible. Willing her still racing heart to slow down she shot a quick glance at Father Jones but he was studiously studying the rug beneath his dress shoes, the bright red tips of his Elf-like ears the only sign of emotion she could see on him.

Mary Margaret clearly didn't notice the awkward tension in the room as she sat on the couch, fingers sliding along the tablet's screen. "You don't have to worry about unloading your father's truck. Him and Graham did it early this morning before they went to the station."

Emma blinked at her mother. "Oh that's… they didn't have to do that."

Mary Margaret shrugged, completely engrossed in her tablet. "Your father needed Graham's help anyway with the front porch so it was just a matter of moving everything into one of the spare bedrooms when they were finished. Are you still heading into town?"

"Um, yeah," Emma answered absentmindedly, her attention on Father Jones. He had moved even further away from her since her mother sat down and was completely across the room, seemingly fascinated with the floral bouquet her mother kept on on the bookcase. He seemed intent on not looking at her and Emma felt a pang of rejection, one she quickly dismissed as ridiculous.

There was nothing to reject because there could _be_ nothing between them, no matter what her body was still screaming at her.

"Do you need anything while I'm out, mom?" she asked, already moving toward the kitchen. She needed to get away from the hot priest who was giving her the perfect view of his ass as he leaned forward.

"Just some milk so I can make biscuits in the morning - you know how your father is after he pulls a double. Oh, and cinnamon!"

Emma hummed in acknowledgement before practically bolting the rest of the way to the kitchen. Once securely alone she braced her hands on the kitchen counter, letting out a shaky breath. _What the hell had she almost done?!_ She had almost _kissed_ a priest and would have if her mother hadn't of graced them with her impeccable timing. She had been seconds away from throwing caution to the wind and finding out if his lips tasted the same in reality as they did in her dreams… She had almost kissed a priest!

Her body was still alive, humming with desire and she was certain if her mother hadn't of interrupted them it would have went far more than a kiss. Because it hadn't been one sided. She had seen the desire in his eyes, the burn of want in those depthless blue orbs and she hadn't imagined the way his body reacted to her. His movements from the moment she stepped up to the fireplace had been those of a man who planned on _taking_ what he wanted, every move deliberate - the way his breath tickled her neck, the brush of his body against hers - they weren't the movements of a man of the cloth. Did she fill his thoughts and dreams as well? Was he as tormented as she was by the need to have him?

She really was losing her mind, thinking that a priest desired her - definitely no need for coffee to wake her up now.

Cursing under her breath at her raging hormones she moved, grabbing the bug's keys and making her way out of the kitchen. A quick glance around the living room showed no sign of the good Father, just her mother still sitting on the couch looking at her tablet. Not wanting to dwell on thoughts of the priest any more she threw her mother a quick wave and reassurance she'd pick up milk and cinnamon, exiting the front door before she gave in to her body's demand to go find Father Jones and fuck him until neither one of them could see straight.

Yep, she was going to Hell.

* * *

Walking into his room Killian took a shaky breath - couldn't let that happen again.

Hadn't he told himself just that morning that he wouldn't give into temptation, that the vows he took in Liam's name were his only chance at redemption for what he had allowed to happen to his brother? And yet mere hours later he had been on the cusp of reaching out and touching the very thing tempting him.

_You weren't going to just touch her, Jones. You were bloody well going to kiss her._

Killian groaned, angrily undoing his belt buckle. He was once again left wondering why he seemed unable to control himself around the blonde woman because he most certainly would have kissed her if Mrs. Nolan hadn't walked in when she did. He had thought himself safe from her temptation when he arrived at the Nolan household to find only Mary Margaret there, already running around at eight in the morning and launching right into what she needed him for. He had of course agreed to let her use the fellowship hall for the bake sale and had spent the next hour and a half helping her plan and coordinate the event.

When she had excused herself to go find the PTA contact list he had taken it upon himself to wander around the living room, taking in the porcelain bird knick knacks and countless pictures that decorated the room. Despite being large and grandiose on the outside the Nolan house had a welcoming feel to it, one that spoke of comfort and love. He had been in many of the other homes in the same neighbourhood that held top of the line furniture and pristine surroundings, everything in its proper place down to the art decor coasters residing on the $800 coffee tables. They were showpieces rather than homes and while the Nolan's household items weren't from the local humanity store, it had a homey feel about it the other ones didn't.

It wasn't merely a house but a home.

He had been in the middle of studying the pictures above the fireplace, particularly a lovely one of Miss Nolan dressed in a red halter gown with her friends when a noise that sounded almost like a quiet groan came from behind him.

And of course it had been her, the very siren of his dreams from the last few nights.

Their conversation had flowed naturally, almost as if they had known each other for far longer than a week and for a few brief moments his mind and body had forgotten about the erotic dreams that had plagued him. But then he had caught her eyes flickering down to his chest as he made the sign of the cross and although he had been a priest for eight years he still knew the look that had darkened the green of her eyes - hunger.

He also hadn't missed the evasiveness with which she side stepped his question about New York, the hunger replaced with an emotional wall and it intrigued him. Whether it was his role as a priest or his natural perceptive nature, he found himself once again wanting to tear down that wall, to strip her bare in an emotional sense and help cleanse the sorrow that tinged those beautiful eyes.

And then she had been in front of him and the only thing he could think to explain his lose of rational thought in that moment was the intoxicating smell that enveloped him as they discussed the pictures of her at various ages. It called to a part of him long dormant, very much like the sirens of sailor's legend and before he knew what he was doing he was allowing his upper body to brush against her ever so slightly. The goosebumps erupting along her shoulder bared by her tank top had caught his attention and like Eve had been drawn to the Forbidden Fruit his eyes had wandered over the slope of her delicate neck, his height giving him the perfect view of the slopes of her breasts and he had been rock hard in seconds.

He had felt her press more firmly against his upper half and he hadn't stopped it, had welcomed it even, and when she had half turned to look at him all he could see was desire swirling in those green depths. Those perfect lips were parted on an inhale and God help me all he had wanted in that moment was to press her to him, to run his hands along all that enticingly bared skin and take her with a ferocity he had never felt before.

The moment had been broken, thankfully, and as mother and daughter chatted about moving furniture and grocery ingredients he had moved swiftly away from his blonde temptation, shame and guilt already coursing through him at his lack of restraint in her presence. He had quickly excused himself to the bathroom after Emma disappeared into the kitchen, biting the inside of his cheek and praying desperately for his body to relax against the desire coursing through it.

If he had thought morning erections brought on by dreams of her were bad it was nothing compared to an erection triggered by her physical presence.

Thankfully she had left by the time his body had calmed down enough for him to emerge from the bathroom. He had quickly made his goodbyes to Mrs. Nolan, promising to discuss the particulars of the bake sale with her over Sunday lunch before jogging back to the church in the humid heat. He didn't care that he had soaked through his dress shirt, needing to feel the sanctuary of God surrounding him and to remind him why his traitorous body's desires were wrong.

But if they were so wrong then why had she reacted to his emboldened advances? She hadn't pulled away - no, on the contrary, she had moved _in_ to them, that hunger in her eyes deepening until he could feel the tension radiating off her. That he hadn't dreamed, but surely he must have. There was no way Emma Nolan was attracted to him and even if she was by some strange chance, he nor she could act on it - the Catholic church frowned on its priests engaging in simple masturbation, having sex with a parishioner was the ultimate in bad form as far as the church was concerned.

Yanking his drenched dress shirt out of his slacks he quickly began unbuttoning it, eyes roaming his sparse room for his discarded running gear from that morning. He needed to distract himself, to calm his obviously tortured soul and the best way he knew to do that was by immersing himself in what had been his mother's favorite hobby.

Tugging on his running gear and grabbing his phone, he made his way to the little garden that sat beside the church.

* * *

Walking into the Storybrooke Police Station Emma couldn't help but smile fondly.

The station hadn't changed much throughout her life - same tiled floor she had played on as a child, same three desks that were cluttered with paperwork and personal momentos, and Emma was certain the plant sitting on top of the filing cabinet in a pink and yellow polka dot vase was immortal as it had been around since she was a teenager - but there had been some upgrades since she had last been here. Her father had finally carved out the little break area he had been talking about doing for years, a brand new couch sat beneath the windows for late night naps, and the stone age computers had been replaced with brand new Apple ones.

It wasn't a bustling New York police station filled to the brim with perps but it was precious to her, every corner filled with a memory from her childhood and the two men currently bantering back and forth had played just an important role in her childhood as the walls surrounding them had.

Deputy Leroy "Grumpy" Jenkins was short and stout, his black beard and forever present frown giving him the look of an unapproachable man who would simply shoulder past you on the street rather than throw a warm greeting. But beneath that hard exterior was a man who went out of his way to always sneak Emma treats when she was a kid, the first person to pitch in and offer aid in times of need, and who was as loyal as they come. He had been a part of the police force for as long as Emma could remember, even predating her father being elected sheriff twenty-six years ago, and had been like a protective brother to her mother after Emma's grandfather had passed.

The other man stood in the sheriff's station was her father's second deputy, Graham Humbert, a hunting enthusiast who had moved from Northern Ireland fifteen years ago. He was a stickler for the law almost to a fault - had even given Emma her first speeding ticket when she was sixteen despite her being the sheriff's daughter - and was known for being a bit of a recluse around town, only leaving his cabin in the woods for his shifts at the station and the occasional town event. Emma had had a severe crush on the Irishman when she was a teenager before _Neal_ had entered the picture and it wasn't hard to see why. He was still a good looking man at thirty-five with dark blue eyes, thick scruff, and an accent that could make a woman swoon.

The two men were in a heated discussion about something Grumpy was calling 'a demonic possession from another age' and as she stepped more fully into the room the older deputy saw her. Leaning back in his desk chair he grinned widely.

"Well, well. Look who the cat dragged in. Hello, sister."

"Grumpy," Emma responded with affection, knowing that the man hated when anyone but her called him that.

Graham turned at the sound of her voice, a smile of his own appearing. "Emma, lovely to see you."

"You too, Graham. Didn't you take today off?"

"I did, was just dropping some files off for your dad when _this one_ stopped me on my way out to complain about the computer systems, _again."_

"Demonic possessions," Grumpy muttered, throwing a glare at the gleaming new computer on his desk. "I don't know why we had to upgrade to these monstrosities."

Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing, sharing a knowing look with Graham. "Are they really that different from the older ones?"

"Entirely new inputting system, sister! Not even a dwarf could get through it with a magical axe."

Graham rolled his eyes. "David and I offered to show you how to do it Leroy but you _insisted_ that you could do it on your own."

The older deputy grumbled something about 'the young generation' before turning back to his computer and angrily punching some keys on the keyboard. Graham shot Emma a conspiratorial wink as he moved away from Grumpy's desk to stand in front of her.

"What brings your beautiful self here today?"

"Oh," Emma replied, slightly taken aback by the compliment, "I'm actually looking for my dad. Is he here?"

Graham shook his head. "He's making a coffee run for him and Leroy but he should be back soon." Tilting his head in thought he continued, "Is everything okay? Anything I can help with?"

"Everything's fine," Emma responded, "I just need to talk to him about employment."

Graham blinked in surprise. "Employment _here_?"

"Yeah," Emma answered slowly, suddenly wondering if the smalltown mentality that a woman couldn't be part of a police force had begun to affect Graham. "You think it's a bad idea?"

"God no!" the Irishman exclaimed, a large grin on his face. "It's a bloody fantastic idea!"

Well she hadn't been expecting _that_. "Seriously?"

"Seriously, sister," Grumpy butted in, clearly having heard the conversation they were having, "This town has grown since your generation started popping out kids and we need another deputy. Having one person on a shift just isn't cutting it anymore."

"He's right," Graham agreed. "And Regina is breathing down your father's neck about us having over time - another deputy would ensure we don't have it."

Stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans Emma looked between the two men. "So if it comes down to it you'll help plead my case?"

"Absolutely, sister."

"Of course."

"What shenanigans are you rallying my deputies into doing now?"

Emma turned at the sound of her father's voice to see him walking into the station with two cups of coffee from Granny's in his hands, an amused expression on his face.

"Dad!"

"Hello princess," David greeted, leaning forward to give her a kiss on the cheek. "What are you doing here?"

"Just dropped by to talk to you if you aren't too busy."

David smiled. "I'm never too busy for you. My office?"

Emma nodded and throwing Graham a thank you for moving her furniture and a goodbye wave moved to follow her father as he handed one of the cups of coffee to Grumpy before going into his office.

Like the entire station her father's office hadn't changed much over the years. Pictures of her and her mother were still scattered throughout - on his desk, the table in the corner - and a piece of art Emma had done in the third grade still hung on one of the file cabinets. Numerous awards and certificates decorated the walls detailing her father's years of service in Storybrooke and pride swelled within her at them. Her father was a damn good sheriff, the most decorated one that had ever served in the position and it was no wonder he was continually re-elected to the position every four years.

Sitting his coffee down David motioned for her to take one of chairs in front of his desk. "What's on your mind, princess?"

"Well," she began, taking the offered seat, "I wanted to talk to you about employment."

He smiled at her. "You grew up in this town, Emma. You know what would and wouldn't work for you."

"I know, which is why I'm here. I was thinking of employment here… at the police station."

David paused in bringing his coffee cup to his lips. "We don't have many bail jumpers here, just the nuisance Will Scarlet that has a weekly reservation in one of our cells."

Emma nodded. "I was thinking more along the lines of a deputy, if there was an open position."

"Being a deputy in a small town is _a lot_ different than being a bail bondswoman in New York, Ems."

"I know, dad. I know it won't be running to chase someone down every hour but I can't see myself cutting hair all day or working a register in one of the shops, can you?"

She watched as her father took a tentative sip of his hot coffee, mulling her proposition over. "Regina _did_ approve me to hire a part time deputy a few weeks back to keep over time down. I'd have to run it by her with us being family but I see no reason why she'd say no."

"I don't want special treatment just because I'm your daughter, dad. I'd want to go through the same process anyone else would-"

David held up his hand. "You wouldn't get special treatment, Emma. You have experience in law enforcement in some capacity which makes you a more viable candidate than anyone else who has applied - which is no one. But it would be only part time, just filling in so there's two of us on a shift some days and it will swing from first to second."

"I'm use to swing shifts with catching perps," she said with a smile. "And I can find something else part time that works around the station's schedule so I'm working full time."

David tapped his fingers along his styrofoam coffee cup in thought. "You could always speak to Father Jones."

Emma blinked in surprise. "What?"

"He's currently looking for a replacement for Mrs. Potts since she passed."

"He mentioned something about it this morning," she mummered, her heart racing. She couldn't work for Father Jones, their encounter this morning was proof enough of that. "I don't know if it would be a good fit for me though."

"I know a secretarial job isn't really something you are interested in long term but it would easily fit around the schedule here and the man is in desperate need of help at the church."

Contemplating for a second he added, "And if you take it you might be able to wriggle out of going to some Masses with your mother as you'll be helping the church."

Emma bit her lip in thought. The last thing she needed was more exposure to the hot priest but if she ever wanted to move out of her parent's house she would need the money and getting out of going to Sunday Mass was always a plus. She was a grown woman though - surely she could curb her desires for the blue eyed priest to take the position.

Wetting her lips she smiled at her father. "I'll pop over to the church today and talk to him."

* * *

Two hours later Emma found herself parking in front of St. Meissa, gathering up her courage to go inside and willingly put herself in the same proximity of the man who she had been having x-rated dreams about all week. She still wasn't completely sure this was a good idea but with her job at the station only being part time - her father had texted her while she was grabbing a quick lunch at Granny's to tell her Regina had okayed her taking the position, pending the normal background check and drug test - and with no other place she'd be willing to work, this was a final option.

She'd just have to be an adult and curb her raging hormones.

Taking a deep breath she exited her bug and pocketing her keys, made her way inside. The inside of the church was just as stifling hot as it was outside and she could feel beads of sweat running down her neck as she walked through the quiet church. She really did not miss summers in the South. Knowing her way around the back of the church from countless Sunday school classes she quickly found her way to the priest's office. Knocking gently on the closed door she waited a few seconds and when no word of greeting came, knocked again. A quick call to her mother twenty minutes ago had told her Father Jones was no longer at the Nolan house and he had mentioned to her mother he would be spending the rest of the day at the church catching up on things. So where was he?

Opening the door a quick scan of the office told her the priest wasn't there. Backtracking along the church's hallways she checked in all the opened rooms and still finding no sign of the good Father, made her way to the little kitchen that sat at the very back of the church. Upon not finding him there either she was about to call it quits and just talk to him after Sunday mass when the unmistakable sound of Queen's _A Kind of Magic_ drifted into the kitchen from outside. Raising an eyebrow at the priest's choice in music - she was a Queen fan herself but would never have guessed he was - she quickly went through the backdoor of the kitchen, following the sound of Freddy Mercury's unmatchable voice to the little area off the side of the church that a health conscious Father Merlin had used to grow his own vegetables.

The sight before had her freezing in her tracks.

Father Jones was kneeling in the garden, eyes intent as he ripped out weeds among a row of beautiful yellow daisies. He had removed his dark dress clothes and was wearing blue basketball shorts and a white wife beater that left very little to the imagination and Emma swallowed hard as she watched his biceps twitch with the movement of pulling the weeds. The oppressing heat of a Southern summer was suddenly replaced by a raging heat between her thighs and she had to bite her lip to keep a groan from escaping.

This wasn't going to work. Just the sight of all that muscle on display had her wanting to dip her hand in her shorts to relieve the ache, she couldn't spend hours around this man alone….

The final bars of the song faded and as Father Jones turned to look at his phone blue eyes locked onto her immediately in surprise.

"Miss Nolan?"

"I, um…" _Shit Emma, get it together!_ "Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude but you weren't in the church."

A dazzling smile appeared. "No worries, I was just taking care of some things I had let go the last few days."

"Is gardener part of your extensive resume as well as bake sale coordinator?"

Father Jones lifted one dark eyebrow as he sat back on his legs. "Is it surprising to you Miss Nolan that my expertise reaches beyond speaking the word of God?"

"N-no," she stammered, momentarily thrown off. Had she offended him? "I didn't mean-"

"You didn't offend me, Miss Nolan," he chuckled, wiping at his brow with his gloved hand, leaving behind a stray smudge of dirt in the process. "I was merrily taking the mick out of you as we Brits say."

"Taking the mick?"

"Pulling your leg, as they say. Forgive me, the heat is clearly affecting my good manners. What can I do for you?"

"Oh, um, I was wondering if I could talk to you," she replied, trying desperately to ignore the enticing view of his chest hair peeking out of the top of his wife beater.

"Of course," he said, motioning toward the kitchen door as he stood, "Would you like to go inside?"

"Yeah," Emma nodded, turning to head back into the church.

_This was a horrible idea. Five seconds with the man and you're already having fantasies about him taking you in the garden. Really Emma? Although you can't be blamed - not with all those glistening muscles on display- Priest, Emma!_

Once inside the kitchen Father Jones sat his phone and gardening gloves on the counter before heading directly for the fridge. "Water, Miss Nolan?"

"Please," Emma replied, taking a seat at the kitchen island. She bit her lip at the sight of his shoulder muscles flexing as he reached for the bottles - shoulders had always been her weakness and damn did he ever have some fine shoulders - her eyes instantly snapping to his face as he shut the refrigerator door.

Father Jones handed her a water bottle. "Do you ever get use to this oppressing heat?"

Emma chuckled, taking a long sip of water. "Never. I grew up in the South and there are two things I know for certain - the winters are as frigid as the Arctic and the summers are as blistering as Mordor."

Laughing Father Jones sat his bottle down. "Indeed, and an accurate description if I must say." Picking up a towel he added, "You wanted to speak with me?"

Emma nodded, pulling her eyes away from a bead of sweat that was slowly making its way down the priest's neck. "Yeah, I was wondering if you were still in need of a secretary?"

Father Jones paused in wiping his face, eyebrows raising slightly. "I am… I didn't know it was something you were interested in."

"It's honestly not my first choice, Father, but the deputy position I'm taking under my dad is only part time and every other available opening in town would conflict with my schedule at the station."

"Do you have any secretarial experience?" he asked, the question slightly muffled as he continued to run the towel over his face.

"I use to file the paperwork at the police station during the summer and weekends while I was in high school, answered the phones when needed, and was in charge of the shift scheduling for a short time my Senior year."

The priest nodded. "That's mostly what this job requires. You'll handle all the church paperwork, keep track of contributions, schedule any events the church holds, and assist anyone - like your dear mother - who needs to use the church for a specific purpose. Any attributes that may help you with the job?"

"I'm organized, detail oriented almost to a fault, and I hold up well under pressure." She looked at him knowingly. "And believe me, you don't know pressure until you get in a room with thirty PTA moms all trying to out sale each other with baked goods to raise money for a band trip to Disney World."

Father Jones chuckled, tossing the towel over one shoulder. "Point taken." Taking a sip of his water he contemplated her for a moment with those brilliant blue eyes before smiling. "I think you'd be perfect for the job, Miss Nolan."

Emma blinked in surprise. "Really?"

Shrugging Father Jones said, "You have experience in everything the job requires and you grew up here. You know the people of this town, their quirks, and what will and won't work for them. Perfect fit in my book."

Emma beamed. "Thank you, Father Jones."

"Of course," he said, moving back toward the counter where his phone lay. "Just let me know what your schedule at the station is. It should be fairly easily to work around and we can set something up for the days you won't be able to physically be here to take care of things. How does starting this Sunday sound?"

"Like I have a job."

"Excellent," he said, smiling. "We can go to my office and sort the paperwork out and I can show you where your desk is now if you want."

Emma stood, motioning toward the door. "Lead the way, Father."

Following Father Jones out of the kitchen Emma took a deep breath. She could do this. She could take this job and not make a fool of herself when it came to desiring the priest. Clearly she had been in some sort of hormone driven dreamworld earlier because not once during their exchange did he make even the slightest move toward her, his eyes never leaving her face as they talked. Everything about him had been professional and it was simple, really. She just needed to get this out of her system - with someone other than the good Father - and she'd be fine.

However she couldn't shake the feeling that she had taken the first steps onto a path that there was no going back on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout out to xpumpkindumplingx in this chapter - you know which part is for you, love. :)
> 
> Also, Grumpy's last name in this story goes completely to phiralovesloki who thought of the BEST LAST NAME EVER for Leroy. If you don't get it youtube 'leroy jenkins' and be prepared to laugh your ass off!


	5. A Sinful Start

 

" _Emma."_

Placing a soft kiss to the hairy chest beneath her, Emma looked up to see Father Jones's eyes locked on her, their usual calm blue a dark shade of midnight as desire swirled within them. She could feel the tension radiating off him, a war raging between his moral beliefs and his basic instinct as a man as he tried to hold on to the vows he had made to God even though what he wanted was currently kneeling between his open thighs. This was no time for promises he had made to the priesthood, however, and she smirked at him.

"Relax, Father. Let me take care of you."

At his hard swallow she resumed her exploration. Her hands wandered over the expanse of chest that his open shirt gave her, the feel of coarse chest hair causing wetness to pool between her own thighs. She had always loved hairy men but none of the guys she had been with over the years had Father Jones's level of chest hair, and it awoke something primal in her. Moving her hands lower she let her lips follow their path, smiling as his stomach muscles trembled beneath her touch. Reaching the top of his dress pants she leaned back to take in the view.

God there was nothing sexier than a half dressed Father Jones.

He was sitting on the couch in her living room, dress shirt open and legs parted to accommodate her, practically panting at her light ministrations. She let her eyes roam over the hard muscle that she had felt when she ran into him at the diner, following the trail of dark chest hair to where it disappeared into his slacks and Emma had to bite her lip at the _very_ prominent bulge that was pushing against the fabric.

Oh, she wanted him, probably more than she had ever wanted a man before - and she intended to taste every inch of him.

Reaching for his belt she slowly undid it, watching his eyes darken even more as her hand brushed his clothed erection with the movement. She palmed him through his pants for a few seconds, another shot of desire shooting straight to her clit at the feel of him and the way his eyes closed at the sensation. His mouth parted on a moan and she saw his hands clench at his sides.

"Emma…"

She gently shushed him, moving to undo his pants. "I won't tease you. Promise." Pulling his pants down far enough to free his erection she licked her lips at the sight, taking in the vein that ran up the underside and the drop of precum that glistened at the tip, the need to taste him over powering her again. She gently wrapped her hand around him and he gasped as her fingers slid over the velvet hardness.

"Bloody hell. I- I know it's wrong, that we shouldn't be doing this, but… Christ Almighty I want you, Emma."

"It's okay," she whispered, pumping him slowly as she resituated herself to lean over his hardened length. "As you Brits say, just lie back and think of England."

His chuckle was cut off on a deep and guttural groan as she took him into her mouth, slowly sliding down until she could feel him tickling the back of her throat.

"Bloody fucking hell, woman!"

Emma smiled around his generous length before moving back up, twirling her tongue around the head of his shaft and sucking gently, her own moan echoing through the room as she tasted him for the first time. More groans fell from his lips as she continued her movements - a long, deep slide down and a quick pull up with her tongue darting out to taste him - over and over again until his thighs began to tremble beneath her hands. His hand tangled in her hair on a particularly deep slide and she felt him tighten his hold, not pushing her down but merely grasping at something.

"Emma, I'm… bleeding Christ, you have to stop or I'm going to come, lass."

Releasing him with a wet pop Emma looked up at him through her lashes, taking in how utterly wrecked he looked. "That's the idea, _Father_."

Before he could say another word she took him back into her mouth, bringing her hand to the base of his cock and doubling her efforts. A litany of curses and grunts of her name followed her increased movements and her thighs clenched as he began talking, telling her how wet and hot her mouth was and praising her for how deep she was taking him. Fuck she loved a dirty talker, and there was something absolutely sinful about the crass words falling from the lips of a priest. His hips began to lift slightly with her every downward stroke until she removed her hand on one and opened her throat, letting him slide deep as she sucked hard.

He shouted her name in pleasure, his cock pulsing and his salty release shooting down her throat in thick spurts. She looked up as he came and the sight above her caused her clit to throb with desire. Father Jones's head was thrown back against the couch, his eyes shut tight as his orgasm washed over him, little gasps of pleasure escaping his opened mouth with every pulse of his cock. Emma moaned around him at the taste of his seed, sucking gently until she had milked every last drop from him. Releasing him Emma licked her lips, smirking at his continued panting and the little aftershocks that caused his softening cock to twitch.

"How was that after years of celibacy, Father Jones?"

He blinked his eyes open slowly and Emma's breath hitched at the dark blue she still saw there. Leaning forward he quickly pulled her into his lap, growling as his hands kneaded her ass roughly under her oversized t-shirt.

"Fucking amazing, but now I want a taste."

Emma gasped in surprise as he flipped her onto her back, throwing her a devilish grin while sliding her green lace thong down her legs and tossing the skimpy pair of underwear over his shoulder. She moaned as the priest immediately dived in, one hand gripping the couch cushion and the other latching onto the dark head of hair between her parted thighs as he began to work her core in earnest. Gone was the pious man of the cloth with his vows to God and in his place was a ravenous lover who was hell bent on worshipping her thoroughly. She should have been embarrassed with how quickly he brought her to the edge but with the same tongue that spoke the word of God lapping at her clit almost sinfully, she couldn't care less.

Her orgasm was _right there_ , the tingling at the base of her spine slowly rolling upwards and her hips began to push against his face, needing that last push to go flying over the edge into oblivion. She almost sobbed when she felt the tips of his fingers tease her entrance, his name and priestly moniker falling from her lips repeatedly as she begged him to let her come. His deep chuckle against her core had her gasping and just as he started to slide those talented fingers into her warm heat, the strings of Nickelback's _Photograph_ blared loudly within the living room.

Emma jerked awake, her eyes snapping open as her alarm clock continued to sing at her from her nightstand. Glaring at the red numbers blinking at her mockingly, she reached over and slapped the off button before flopping onto her back with a groan of frustration. That was by far one of the more vivid dreams she had had over the past week, her body tingling with unfulfilled desire as images replayed over and over behind her closed eyes. She could still feel his tongue on her, the way his hands had gripped her thighs almost possessively as he devoured her, the taste of him lingering on her tongue. It had been far too long since she had a release of any kind and her clit throbbed almost painfully.

She couldn't do this… right?

"Fuck it," she growled, pushing her hand beneath the bed cover and into her soaked underwear. She didn't care if it was morally wrong to get herself off while thinking about a priest, she just needed a release. Emma bit her lip to keep from moaning out loud as she found her swollen clit, her free hand tangling in the heavy comforter as her hips rocked into her hand. She thought about how he had looked that day she had went to the church to inquire about the secretary position, the way his biceps had moved as he dug in his garden, and the rivulets of sweat that had rolled down his biteable neck. Within minutes Emma's orgasm was washing over her, stealing her breath as her body jerked in long overdue pleasure, her toes curling at the intensity of it and sparks firing behind her closed eyes.

God she hadn't come like that in _years._

As the last tremors of her orgasm subsided and her boneless body sunk into her comfortable bed, guilt slammed into her like a semi-truck. What the actual fuck had she just done? Admiring the hot priest was one thing and having dreams about him doing sexual things to her couldn't be controlled, but knowingly getting herself off to thoughts of him was crossing an unwritten line, one that completely made her a horrible human being. Because it wasn't simply that he was a priest - although that _was_ a pretty damning reason - but he was also her _boss_ now.

 _Oh God._ How was she suppose to face him, let alone work for him now that she had done _that_?

Emma groaned and yanked the comforter over her head. She couldn't look at him or attend church anymore, it was just that simple. She was fairly certain she could get her father to run interference with her mother about why she wasn't fulfilling the stipulation of going to church and she could probably talk Ruby into taking her job at the church. Or maybe Elsa, she was always talking about getting out of the family ice cream business. No, she would have to move away. Her father had family out west somewhere...

"Emma, are you awake?"

Emma rolled her eyes beneath the comforter. It was Sunday morning, _of course_ her mother was going to be punctual today. She pulled the blanket down to her nose as her bedroom door opened to reveal her mother already dressed in a sleeveless light green dress that fell to her knees, a steaming coffee cup in her hand. The school teacher frowned as she took in her daughter.

"You're still in bed."

"My alarm just went off, mom," Emma grumbled, making no move to extract herself from her bed.

Mary Margaret shook her head as she made her way into the room. "You need to get up and get dressed, Emma. We're leaving for Mass in fifteen minutes and your father wants to talk to you before you head to the station."

"I will, just trying to wake up."

Her mother came to stand next to the bed, the green eyes Emma had inherited carefully studying her. "It's a big day for you, you know. Your first day of work."

Emma rolled her eyes again. "Mom, I've been working since I was eighteen."

"I know, but it's your first day working at the church."

"Well, yeah-"

"It's just…" Mary Margaret sat on the edge of Emma's bed, careful not to spill the contents of the cup in her hand. "I know how you feel about religion, particularly ours, and I want you to know that I'm proud of you."

Emma's eyebrows shot up. "You are?" It wasn't that her mother had never told her she was proud of her - on the contrary, Emma could remember many times as a child when her mother had - but she had never heard the words as an adult. Her mother might have eventually come to terms with the fact that her daughter didn't follow in her footsteps and become a teacher, but she had never once told her she was proud of her career choice, or any choice Emma had made in her adult life.

"Of course I am," Mary Margaret replied, smiling. "Despite your misgivings about the church you set them aside to help out, to aide your community. That's very noble of you and I'm sure Father Jones is thankful. That poor man has been running himself ragged trying to be a priest and keep the church running on a day-to-day basis."

Emma blushed beneath the comforter, half because of her mother's words and half at the mention of Father Jones. "It's not a big deal mom, really."

"It is, and I just thought you should know I am proud of you for doing this. And I'm happy that you are back home, even if the circumstances that brought you here were negative."

"Thanks, mom," Emma murmured, slightly taken aback by the turn of events.

"And I know your father is thankful to have you at the station as well. It takes a weight off his shoulders knowing there is another dependable deputy around, even if it is only part time." Mary Margaret smiled. "Anyway, I won't keep you." Standing she placed the coffee cup on Emma's night stand before leaning over and placing a kiss to Emma's forehead. "I figured coffee was the best way to get you moving. Remember, your father wants to speak with you before we leave for church." Emma watched her mother leave the bedroom, blinking as the door quietly shut behind her.

What the hell had just happened?

Shaking her head against the strange mother-daughter moment, she threw the cover back and sat up, reaching for the still steaming cup of coffee. She took an eager sip of her morning elixir, thankful her mother knew exactly how she took her coffee, and let her mind wander over her options. Not that there _were_ options, per say. She couldn't push her job off on one of the girls and skip town now - not that that had ever been a viable choice, more a desperate fantasy to alleviate her guilt - so she really had no choice but to see Father Jones and spend four days of the week with him, sometimes in the close proximity of his office, even if she had just masturbated to thoughts of him.

Emma groaned into her coffee. It had been a week since she walked into church and saw the hot new priest, two days since she took the part-time position as his secretary and she still couldn't get him out of her head. A man had never invaded her thoughts this much before, not even when she had her schoolgirl crush on Graham, and it was frightening. She was a grown woman who was more than capable of controlling her thoughts - and hormones - yet when it came to this man she couldn't, and she didn't know why. But if she was going to work for him and stay in Storybrooke long term, Emma was going to have to find a way to stop thinking about him because she could never have him - the white collar at his neck made sure of that.

Sighing at the futility of her situation she took another gulp of coffee and forced herself to stand - she had a busy day ahead of her and staying in bed thinking about an unattainable man wasn't going to get things moving along. She stumbled slightly as she stood, blushing as she realised her legs hadn't fully recovered from the toe curling orgasm she had given herself with thoughts of - nope, she wasn't going to do this. No more indecent thoughts about Father Jones. She was going to get dressed, train at the station with Graham, and then start her first day as Father Jones's secretary like a normal adult as if she hadn't just masturbated to thoughts of him.

She was twenty-eight years old, she could do this.

Squaring her shoulders in determination she walked to her closet, continuing to sip on her coffee as she went and started gathering her clothes. Normally no one worked at the station on the weekend, the deputies taking turns being on call and the station's phone rerouted to ring to whoever was on call's cell phone, but her father had said it was the best time of the week to train someone since it was quiet. Emma hadn't put up too much of a fuss about it - it got her out of going to Mass, after all - but she did feel bad that Graham was having to give up his usual hunting time to train her. It also meant that as soon as her shift there ended she would have to head to the church and work until nine but long working hours was nothing new to Emma. She was use to stakeouts where she sat in her bug for hours, sometimes the entire night, to catch a perp.

Tugging on a pair of jeans, a short sleeved gray t-shirt, and her favorite pair of boots she was thankful that Father Jones had mentioned she wouldn't need to dress up for her job at the church. It meant she didn't have to carry a change of clothes with her on the one or two days she would be at the church in the morning and the station in the afternoon. A quick check of the weather app on her phone had her brushing her hair and pulling it into a ponytail - the station was air conditioned but the church wasn't and with a high of ninety-nine and humidity that made it feel more like 110, there was no way she was working for five hours with her hair down.

Quickly brushing her teeth and applying light make-up she grabbed her car keys and headed down stairs. She could hear her parents moving around in the kitchen as she descended the stairs, her father's laughter over something loud and it made her smile. It was another thing she hadn't realised she really missed while living in New York, the simple act of coming down the stairs to the sound of her father's voice every day. Entering the kitchen she saw her mother bustling around, now in a pair or nude heels and white camisole over her green dress as her father sat at the kitchen island, sipping on his own coffee and reading the newspaper with his his tie draped around his neck.

"Morning, dad."

David looked up from the newspaper and smiled as she placed a kiss to his cheek. "Good morning, princess. Ready for your long day?"

Grabbing one of the blueberry waffles her mother had made Emma laughed. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"You should really eat more than a waffle, Emma," her mother scolded as she set the last of the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher. "There's no telling when you'll get to eat next since you're working both jobs today."

"I'll make sure she eats at lunch time, dear," David said with a wink at Emma. "Graham may talk a big game about only eating meat he's caught but he never says no to being brought food from Granny's."

Emma smiled around a mouth full of waffle. "Throw in a bear claw and you'll be father of the year."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Mary Margaret replied, her back to Emma as she poured coffee into three travel cups. Emma rolled her eyes but swallowed before addressing her father again.

"Mom said you wanted to speak to me before I went to the station?"

Taking a sip of coffee David nodded. "Nothing major, just wanted to let you know your badge and gun would be on my desk and that the boys cleared the third desk of paperwork for you to use. If you want to use the lock drawer on it you'll have to get in touch with Robin to have a key made."

Emma frowned. "I thought he owned the British pub on Main Street."

"He does but he was a locksmith back in England and since old man Turner retired from the key making business, Robin has taken over as the part time locksmith for the town."

Emma hummed in fascination, popping another piece of waffle in her mouth as her mother sat one of the travel mugs in front of her.

"David, we need to get going or we're going to be late for Mass."

Her father nodded, sitting his newspaper and coffee cup down. Emma finished off the rest of her waffle as her parents moved to leave, smiling as her father placed an affectionate kiss to her forehead.

"Good luck, princess."

"Thanks, dad."

* * *

Emma entered the police station twenty minutes later to the sight of Graham leaning back in his desk chair, his well worn boots propped on the desk with a newspaper and pen in his hands. Hearing her approach the Irishman looked up and smiled, his blue eyes lighting up.

"Emma!"

She chuckled as she came to a stop next to his desk, tapping his leg with the hand that wasn't holding her travel mug. "I'm sure the residents of Storybrooke would be thrilled to know that their tax dollars are being spent so you can sit and do the morning crossword, Humbert."

Graham grinned at her, tossing the half done crossword and pen onto his desk. "At least I'm somewhat productive with their tax dollars by keeping my mind sharp. Leroy just naps during down time."

Emma laughed. "Well, in Grumpy's defense napping keeps the mind sharp, too. I'm guessing he needs it when he gets the random three AM call that Will Scarlet is dancing down Main Street trying to audition for the lead role in _Wicked_."

"That happens far more often than you think it does," Graham replied, still smiling. "You ready for your first day?"

Emma nodded. "I think so. I know it won't be anything like my job in New York was but I'm ready to dive in. It also doesn't hurt that it means I get to start saving for a place of my own."

"Your mom already driving you insane?"

"Not as much as she could be," Emma responded truthfully, taking a sip of her coffee. "I think me taking the secretary position at the church has curbed her need to meddle for a while since I'm apparently helping the community."

Graham reached for his own cup that Emma knew from years of hanging around the station held hot tea rather than coffee. "Your father mentioned something about that Friday when he called and asked me to come in today. I was a little surprised to hear you had taken it, to be honest."

Emma frowned. "Why is that?"

Graham shrugged as he took a sip of his tea. "You were always rather anti-religion when you were younger. That's the feeling I got from our talks, at least."

Emma smiled at the memory. She had known Graham since she was thirteen when he moved to Storybrooke, and what had started out as a fascination with the new resident's stories of a far away country she had never visited had quickly developed into a school girl crush of outrageous proportions. There had been many a summer when she hung out at the station under the guise of 'helping' her father and Graham had talked to her about anything and everything - school, her viewpoint on religion, her desire to not follow her mother's career path, what she wanted out of life. He was a good listener and she looked back at their conversations with fondness, even if she did cringe at how overtly forward she had been at fourteen with a then twenty-one year-old Graham.

"No, I'm still very anti-religious," she conceded, propping her hip right next to his boots, "But a job is a job, right? Father Jones needed help and I had the experience. Besides, it would take me twice as long to save up if I only worked part time here."

"Fair point," Graham responded. "And Father Jones does need the help."

Emma tilted her head. "You've met him?" Graham was one of the few non-religious people in Storybrooke, and to her knowledge had never stepped foot inside the church unless called there on a police matter.

Graham nodded, taking another sip from his cup. "I've run into him here in town once or twice since he arrived, seems like a nice enough guy to be a priest. I know his sister better."

Emma blinked in surprise. "His sister?"

"Belle Jones. She moved here about a week after Father Jones did and converted the old coffee shop that went out of business five years ago into the library and runs it." His brow knitted in confusion. "You didn't know?"

"Mom told me about the library but I just didn't put two and two together with them having the same last name." Emma bit her lip in thought. "I thought she was from Australia, though?"

Graham shrugged. "She moved there from England some years ago. She's very quiet, kind of keeps to herself but is friendly enough. Robin commented a few months back that something happened to her while she was in England. He didn't go into any detail about what happened but my impression was that it was bad."

"Well God knows living in this small town the details are bound to come out at some point. No one's life stays private here."

"Speaking of which…" Emma groaned as Graham crossed his arms, his boot lightly tapping her arm. "I've heard some rumors about your fabled return, Miss Nolan."

"Oh have you?" she sarcastically replied.

"Indeed. I've heard everything from you got into trouble with the law in New York to you secretly married that guy and left him when you found out he had a wife and kid in another state."

Emma's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"

Graham grinned. "I _might_ have embellished that last one, but it wasn't far off what I heard. So out with it, Nolan. Why the sudden return to the town you couldn't wait to leave?"

Emma sighed - _this_ is what she hated about small town life. Everyone wanted to know your business and when they didn't, they spread outrageous gossip to pass the time. She really hadn't missed this but she knew Graham's question came from a place of genuine concern and what she told him wouldn't go further than the two of them, not that she cared what the residents of Storybrooke thought of Walsh.

"It's nothing as scandalous as everyone seems to want to make it," she began, her finger tapping the side of her travel mug and only then realising her mother had given her the Swan Princess one an eight-year-old Emma had demanded they buy when the family had went to Disney World. "I found out Walsh had been cheating on me for two years and I ended things. I'd been living in New York for over ten years and discovering his infidelity was kind of the push I needed to make a change, so I decided to come home."

Looking up from the travel mug in her hands she saw the Irishman's blue eyes filled with sympathy. "Emma, I'm sorry-"

Emma waved his polite apology away with a shake of her head. "Graham it's fine, really. Things should have ended with Walsh a long time ago and I honestly checked out of the relationship a year ago, so I don't feel the need to cry over rocky road ice cream for the next four months."

"So you're over him and ready to move on to the next relationship?"

"Over him, yes. Ready to jump into another relationship?" Emma shook her head. "No. I'm just taking time for myself right now."

Graham nodded, his face thoughtful. "So if the right man came along…"

An image of Father Jones flashed through her mind and Emma quickly shook it away - the priest was most definitely not the right man for her. She shrugged instead. "I wouldn't say no but I'm not actively looking." Feeling the need to change the subject from her love life - or lack thereof - she nudged his boot with her elbow.

"What about you? Any special lady in your life Deputy Humbert?"

Graham studied her for a long second, blue eyes suddenly intense before smiling softly. "Not as of yet, no. But-" The ringing phone on Graham's desk interrupted them and with a deep sigh the Irishman picked it up. Emma sipped at her coffee as he conversed with whoever was on the other end of the line, nodding with the occasional "Yes" and "No, I completely agree."

"Who was that?" she asked as he hung up the phone. Standing and straightening his brown vest Graham threw her a wide smile, blue eyes sparkling with mirth.

"That was Granny. Tell me Deputy Nolan, are you ready for your first taste of the shenanigans that is Will Scarlet?"

* * *

Walking into the church Emma wiped at her sweat drenched forehead, cursing the humid weather of the South before realising where she was and wincing. Luckily there was no one in the chapel this early on a Sunday afternoon and she offered a muttered "Sorry" to the image of a crucified Jesus that hung at the front of the chapel before quickly making her way through the side door and down the hallway that lead to Father Jones's office.

Her training at the station had been relatively peaceful aside from the incident with Scarlet. By the time her and Graham had arrived at the diner the Englishman had already been three sheets to the wind and arguing with a crossbow armed Granny. They had tried to get him to leave peacefully but Will had landed a fairly well placed punch to Graham's stomach and then tried to make a run for it, one Emma had stopped with a close-line. She had the irate drunk on his stomach and handcuffed before Graham had even gotten his wind back. They had tossed Scarlet in the nearest jail cell to sober up as soon as they got back to the station and she had spent the rest of her shift filling out paperwork and going over the new computerised system with Graham.

Having spent almost the entire morning in the air conditioned police station she had completely forgotten about the day's temperature until she stepped outside and had huffed the entire fifteen minute drive to the church. Her weather app had been off by about ten degrees that morning and at 110 degrees before the humidity index even kicked in, it was an unusually hot June day. By the time she parked her bug in front of the church her shirt was sticking to her like a second skin and she was wondering how on Earth she was going to work in the non air conditioned church for the next two months.

Sighing against the oppressive heat that seemed to be worse in the stone church she opened the office door and froze.

Father Jones was sat at his desk, head bent in concentration as he typed rapidly on a laptop with an uncapped red Sharpie held loosely in his mouth. A fan sat on the edge of his desk at max spinning speed causing the papers next to him to flutter, the odd paper weight here and there the only thing keeping them from fully flying away. His dark locks were blowing in the self made wind as well, a few strands falling over his forehead and moving back and forth as the fan turned side to side, and she was far more mesmerised by that sight then she should have been. The white collar of his trade was gone and the first two buttons of his black dress shirt were unbuttoned, revealing that swath of dark chest hair she had only glanced the other day in his garden and he had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing even more dark hair.

The image from her dream of him sprawled on her couch and half dressed popped into her head and Emma quickly shook it away, guilt flaring sharply as she remembered what she had done that morning to thoughts of him. No, she could handle this. She was an adult who had control over her libido. The sight of a man in a relaxed state of dress wouldn't turn her into a puddle of hormones - even if he did look like _that_.

Nodding to herself in determination she walked a little further into the office and cleared her throat. "Father Jones?" she said, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the desk fan.

His head instantly came up, blue eyes bright and he quickly removed the writing implement from his mouth.

"Oh, hello Miss Nolan."

She smiled and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans, the urge to brush those strands of hair blowing across his forehead to the side hitting her from nowhere. "I hope I'm not late. Graham wanted to show me a few last minute things at the station and we got caught up with that."

He glanced down at the laptop in front of him and then back up to her, smiling. "You're right on time, actually. How was your first day at the station?"

"Relatively uneventful aside from having to manhandle a drunk Scarlet by nine in the morning. How was Mass?"

He shrugged, absentmindedly twirling the red Sharpie between his long fingers.

"Uneventful as well. Today's message was about struggling with sin and how we can overcome the temptations of the world. I think it went over well even if some of the younger parishioners rolled their eyes at times."

Emma felt her cheeks heat up at the mention of sin and temptation and was grateful that priesthood didn't come with the ability to read minds.

"I can only imagine," she nervously laughed, moving toward her desk. The office was small, no bigger than a standard apartment bedroom and it was severely over crowded with the addition of her desk. Book shelves and pictures of the Virgin Mary and Christ were against every available wall space, a bay window with cream colored curtains looked out over the garden with a clear view of the park's entrance. Father Jones's desk sat in the middle of the room with hers to the right, turned so it faced his to conserve what little walking space there was.

"Were you able to set everything up?"

Father Jones nodded as she sat down. "You have access to the church email and there's an electronic schedule that I downloaded as we discussed so you won't have to lug the schedule book around on the days you aren't here."

"Sounds great. I'll pair both to my phone if it hasn't melted in my pocket from this unbearable heat."

He laughed and pointed to her desk with the Sharpie. "There's a fan in that bottom right drawer. It won't completely take the heat away but it's better than sitting here and slowly roasting to death."

Throwing him a grateful smile she started to get her desk in order. She could hear him return to typing, the sound of the keys clicking barely audible over his fan along with the occasional swipe of Sharpie across paper. Quickly plugging the fan into her extension cord she situated it on the edge of her desk, sighing loudly when the device switched on to its highest setting and sent a continuous blast of cool air at her. She sat there for a full minute letting the wind cool her sweat drenched face, unashamedly tilting her head to the side to cool her neck down. Father Jones's typing seemed to slow down but she didn't think much of it, sighing once again as she felt relatively cooled down enough to actually start working.

That is, if she could keep her eyes off Father Jones long enough to get any work done.

She found herself glancing at him every few seconds as she went about pairing the church email and schedule to her iPhone, getting distracted more and more each time her eyes flickered to him. The fan on his desk was still blowing his hair in every direction, the locks falling over his forehead making him look younger and her hand curled around her phone as the urge to move them hit her again. Her eyes lingered for far longer than was appropriate on the open view of his neck and collarbone, her breath hitching when he paused his typing to put the end of the Sharpie in his mouth, tongue curling along the bottom of the pen while he contemplated something before continuing to type.

Emma could feel her cheeks heat up as she imagined _other_ objects that tongue could curl around and she instantly chastised herself. This was exactly what she had promised herself she wouldn't do this very morning and here she was, barely ten minutes in the room with the man and her mind was going straight to the gutter. He was her boss and more importantly, a priest - she had to stop thinking about him as someone who could fulfil her sexual desire because it was never going to happen. Giving herself a good mental shake, Emma logged into the church email and began filtering through the emails that had come through over the last few days.

She could do this, even if it killed her.

* * *

Three hours later Emma leaned back in her chair, sighing deeply.

She had finally gotten the church schedule in order even though it had taken her an hour to untangle the events Father Jones had already penciled in. The priest apparently didn't realise he couldn't be at a Baptism _and_ do premarital counseling at the same time, a fact she had grumbled about the entire time she moved events around. She had spent half an hour on the phone to the local socialite group arguing with Brier Rose that a meeting most definitely could not be held three Saturdays from now because a couple needed the chapel that same day for their wedding rehearsal, Father Jones laughing quietly in the background as Emma politely told the socialite to shove off and find another location. There were still at least ten more emails to go through but she needed a break, her rumbling stomach reminding her that she hadn't eaten since noon when her father brought her and Graham grilled cheese sandwiches from Granny's.

A quick glance at her computer clock told her it was a quarter til six and she knew she wouldn't be able to go the remaining three hours of her shift without putting something on her stomach. Minimizing the church's email she stood and made her way out of the office, deciding to grab something light from the kitchen to tide her over until she got home. The church was quiet, evening Mass having finished a half hour ago and the sound of her boots hitting the old wooden floors echoed loudly. Turning the corner that lead to the kitchen the aroma of food being cooked hit her and she frowned. There was no one scheduled to use the church's kitchen that she was aware of, so who would be cooking?

Pushing open the door Emma was shocked to find Father Jones at the stove, stirring something in a pan that smelled delicious as he hummed what she was certain was David Bowie's _Life on Mars._ The sleeves of his dress shirt were once again rolled up, his hair perfectly disheveled like he had been running his hands through it and a dish towel thrown over his shoulder.

Blinking in surprise Emma blurted out, "What are you doing?"

Father Jones looked up from the pan and raised one dark eyebrow. "Surely you know what a cooked meal is, Miss Nolan. I've sampled some of your mother's cooking so I know you didn't grow up on boxed pizzas and TV dinners."

"No," Emma quickly replied, slightly defensive, "I just… wasn't expecting you to be in here. Aren't you suppose to be taking confession?"

"There weren't a lot of parishioners needing to unburden their souls and I figured you hadn't eaten since lunch, so I decided to cook us dinner." He smiled as he went back to stirring. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah," Emma murmured, trying to ignore her rumbling stomach.

Father Jones nodded toward the cabinets. "The food is almost done if you want to grab us some plates. They're in the cabinet to the right of the sink and silverware is in the drawer below."

Almost in a trance Emma moved to gather the plates and forks, sitting both down on the kitchen island across from each other. She couldn't remember the last time someone other than her mother or father had cooked a meal for her, Walsh had certainly never done it in the four years they dated. Guilt for her early morning actions hit her again - here he was making sure she didn't starve, being a decent human being and she had done… that. To thoughts of him. Sitting down on one of the bar stools and wondering when Hell was going to just swallow her up, she watched Father Jones switch off the stove top and turn towards the island with the pan in his hand, spooning the food he had been cooking onto their plates.

"I didn't know what you would like so I stuck to a dish your mother has made for me a couple of times, homemade potato stroganoff."

"It's actually one of my favorites," she assured him, returning his smile. English peas were added to their plates along with a buttered roll and after grabbing each of them a bottle of water from the fridge Father Jones sat down across from her, tossing the dish towel that had been on his shoulder to the side.

"Would you like to say grace?"

Emma paused as she reached for her fork. "Oh- ah, no, you can, Father. It's not really my thing."

Father Jones looked at her intently, his blue eyes seeming to peer into her very soul before he simply nodded and bowed his head. He said a quick prayer of thanks, Emma bowing her head out of respect but keeping her eyes open, and after he had made the sign of the cross they both began to eat. Emma moaned almost indecently as the first bite of food hit her tongue, an array of spices exploding in her mouth.

"Oh my God that is good."

Father Jones smiled and Emma could have sworn it was slightly strained. "I'm glad you like it. I added a few things to your mother's reciepe but wasn't sure if they would work with it."

"Oh, it works with it," Emma assured him, moving to take another fork full. "Don't tell my mom, but I think this is better than hers."

The priest laughed and Emma felt her guilt lessen slightly at the sound as they fell into a comfortable silence while eating, Emma seriously considering asking him what he had added to the dish so she could try to get her mother to do the same the next time she made it. He was handsome, had an accent, _and_ could cook? The universe had really screwed the women of the world over when it made him a priest. She had just popped another roll into her mouth - seriously, he had even gotten those perfect, just fluffy enough without burning them - when Father Jones cleared his throat.

"I take it you aren't a religious person?"

Emma paused in chewing the delicious roll, her eyes shooting up to him. This conversation almost never went well when she had it with a religious person. He was watching her intently again but she saw no sign of judgement in those blue eyes, only curiosity. She finished chewing and swallowed thickly.

"What makes you say that?"

Father Jones shrugged. "I noticed you didn't participate in communion last Sunday nor have you come to any of the confessions, and you just mentioned that saying grace wasn't your thing. Not hard to put two and two together, although I do like to think I'm a perceptive man."

Emma nodded slowly, carefully choosing her next words. "You would be right. My parents raised me in the Catholic faith but as an adult I… I found it just wasn't for me. In fact, last Sunday was the first time I had stepped foot in a church since I was seventeen."

"Do you not agree with the tenants of the faith?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Pretty much," Emma replied, taking a sip of water. "There's a lot of beliefs the Catholic church holds that I… well, I don't share them. I don't agree with them so I don't participate in the religion."

Father Jones tilted his head. "I imagine that viewpoint doesn't sit well in a small town like this."

Emma laughed. "No, it doesn't. My viewpoint on religion is a very sore subject between my mother and me to this day. I thought she was going to give herself whiplash when my father told her I was taking this job."

"Why did you?"

Emma blinked at him in confusion. "Why did I what?"

"This job. Why did you take it if you aren't a practicing Catholic?"

"Because it's a job and I know I can help you and the church without my beliefs getting in the way." She paused as a thought struck her, one that turned her stomach for an unknown reason. "Unless you have to be Catholic to hold the position-"

Father Jones waved her words away. "Of course not. Even if the church required the position to be held by a practicing Catholic, I don't."

"That's very… forward thinking of you."

Father Jones laughed as he pushed his empty plate to the side and stood up. "I may be a Catholic priest, Miss Nolan, but as I mentioned to you once before, I wasn't always a man of the cloth. I don't hold the same viewpoints that the older members of my faith do. Coffee?"

"Please."

He _had_ mentioned that the day she quite literally ran into him at the diner and she was just as intrigued to what the good Father had done before the priesthood as she had been that day. She watched him grab a couple of mugs from the cabinet above the stove and pour a premade pot of coffee into one of them, wondering what viewpoints it was he didn't agree with.

"How do you take it?"

"Just enough milk to turn it blonde," she replied, licking her lips subconsciously when he leaned into the fridge to grab the gallon of milk. The man really had a nice ass. He added the milk to her cup and then went about putting a tea bag in the other and she smirked as he added hot water from a simmering kettle into it.

"You can take the man away from his homeland but not his tea, right?"

He laughed as he stirred sugar into his cup before bringing both to the island. "Aye. I've tried coffee before and it's an abhorrent liquor that needs to be scourged from the Earth."

"Mmmm, it's what I live off of. Thank you," she said, taking the cup from him and gently blowing on the steaming liquid. It didn't matter if it was 120 degrees outside - she could drink coffee at any time of the day and in any weather. Taking a tentative sip she sighed happily, relishing in the warmth that seemed to spread through her whole body as the liquid went down.

"So what did you do before the robes and anointment of holy water?" she asked, continuing their conversation from a few minutes before.

"I was in the Royal Navy, actually," he replied, taking a sip of his tea. "A Lieutenant to be more precise."

An image of Father Jones dressed in a uniform flashed before her and Emma felt a shot of desire go through her because holy mother of God that was a panty soaking thing to imagine.

"So, ah- not much has changed on the job front then." At his quizzical look she continued, "Well you still wear a uniform, follow a strict set of rules, etc."

Father Jones laughed. "I never thought of it like that before but I suppose you are right."

Unable to resist she asked, "And I take it your love of of old rock came from your pre-priesthood years?"

A dark eyebrow rose in amusement. "Noticed that, did you?"

"Well, you were listening to Queen the other day when I came to ask about the job and I'm fairly certain you were humming a Bowie song when I walked in tonight."

Father Jones grinned. "Guilty as charged. You're a fan of the genre I presume?"

"There might be a few things I wished my parents hadn't handed down to me but their love of old rock is not one of them," she laughed. "How long were you in the Navy?"

"A little over five years. I joined at eighteen and served until I was twenty-three."

"What made you leave?"

If she hadn't been looking directly at him she would have missed the way his entire body stilled at her question and the almost imperceptible way his eyes darkened. Having walls of her own Emma knew the look of someone being asked a question that brought up a painful memory all too well, and she silently cursed.

"I'm sorry, that's a really personal question-"

"No, it's fine."

"My mother is always telling me I'm just blurting questions out, tends to come with the old job."

Father Jones smiled but she noted it was tight, his eyes still that haunted shade of blue. "You didn't over step at all, Miss Nolan. My leaving the Navy was… it was due to a family tragedy. My brother passed away suddenly."

"I'm sorry," she murmured, setting her own half drunk cup of coffee on the table. Having no biological siblings of her own, she couldn't imagine what it was like to lose one. Ruby, Elsa, and Tink were the closest things she had to sisters and the thought of losing them, forever, made her heart clench. Father Jones shook his head.

"It was a long time ago. After his death I decided a change in life course was in order so I entered the priesthood. That was about eight years ago this winter."

"So you traveled the world?" she asked, feeling the need to steer the conversation away from what was clearly a painful subject. She was also rather intrigued by the Navy man-turned-Priest in a way she hadn't been since she was thirteen and listening to Graham's stories about Northern Ireland.

Father Jones nodded as he sipped at his tea and she could feel his gratefulness for the subject change in his body language. "Saw a good portion of it, actually. There are a lot of beautiful places in the world and fascinating cultures."

Emma nodded in agreement although she had never traveled outside her own country's borders. "Living in this small town must feel stifling after seeing everything else the world has to offer."

"Not really," he commented, gently sitting his cup down. "There's a tranquility about a small town like this and it's way of life. It soothes the soul and refreshes your spirit, gives you a sense of belonging with how close the community is."

"Not if you grew up here," she muttered, finishing off the last bit of her coffee.

Father Jones frowned. "Did you not enjoy growing up here?"

"It wasn't all bad," she conceded, tracing the wording of _St. Meissa_ on her cup. "Like the Catholic religion, there are aspects of living in a small town like Storybrooke that I don't agree with. It's why I moved to New York ten years ago." It wasn't a _complete_ lie so she didn't feel too guilty lying to the priest. There was a lot about small town living that had driven her out of Storybrooke but it wasn't the main reason.

"And yet you returned," he pointed out, leaning on the kitchen island with his forearms. "Why was that?"

Emma shrugged, and she could feel one of her many walls shooting up. "Just needed a change of scenery and you know what they say - there's no place like home." He was staring at her intently, as if weighing the truth of her words against what he was seeing in front of him and for a split second she was afraid he would press the matter. Surely if everyone in town was gossiping about her reasons for leaving Walsh they had reached the town's priest by now. But he didn't push, merely nodded as if he understood and began to clear away their dishes from the island. Emma stood, suddenly feeling the need to put space between her and the priest even if it was for only a moment.

"Thank you for dinner, Father Jones. I'm just going to go back to the office and-"

"Killian."

Emma stopped on her way to the door, turning to look at him in surprise. "What?"

Father Jones set the last of the dishes in the sink before turning back to her with a small smile. "My name is Killian. When we're in the office or a setting like this you can call me by my first name. Father Jones sounds overly formal for the amount of time we'll spend together, don't you think?"

Emma opened and closed her mouth, momentarily taken aback. A part of her was screaming that this was another step toward damnation, that they needed to keep things professional between them at all times to maintain that line neither could ever cross but another part of her warmed at the knowledge that he _didn't_ want to keep things professional all the time.

"Okay… but only one condition."

"Aye?"

"You call me Emma and not Miss Nolan."

Father Jones, or Killian, grinned, his blue eyes sparkling in the overhead light. "I can do that."

Emma smiled back at him, her heart racing as she took one more step down a very dangerous path.. "Will you be returning to the office tonight?"

Killian shook his head as he picked up the dish towel he had left on the kitchen island. "I have a few things to get ready for tomorrow so just lock up when you leave. I'll see you in the morning?"

Emma nodded. "Bright and early at eight sharp. Goodnight, Killian."

"Goodnight… Emma."


	6. Lead Us (Not) Into Temptation

 

"Jesus, Ruby! Slow down or you're going to get us killed!"

Grabbing the handle her father had always termed the 'oh shit handle' above the passenger side window, Emma had to agree with Tink's observation from the back seat.

The three of them were on their way to pick Elsa up from the airport and it would be a miracle if they survived the car ride. Storybrooke was too small to have an international airport, the little strip on the outskirts of town only accepting regional planes so anyone flying in from a major airport had to land in the next big city thirty minutes away. In a bid to keep Elsa from having to rent a car and drive after being on a plane for ten hours, Emma and the girls had offered to pick her up when she had emailed them a few days before with her official arrival date. Taking Emma's bug was out of the question - both because of lack of space for all four of them and the no AC issue - and with Tink's Nissan Leaf in the shop, they had decided to drive Ruby's Mustang.

The only problem with that was Ruby's driving.

Bracing her free hand against the dashboard Emma remembered _why_ she hated being a passenger with Ruby behind the wheel. The woman had no concept of safe driving, weaving in and out of traffic at high rates of speed like she was playing a videogame, her foot firmly on the gas and waiting until the last second to brake. Emma was shocked the seat belts still worked in the Mustang with as much tension as they were put under with the brunette's driving.

"Oh calm down back there, Tink," Ruby laughed, taking a turn so sharply that it would have sent the petite blonde in the backseat sliding if she hadn't of had her seatbelt on. "My driving isn't _that_ bad."

Tink's head appeared between the two seats, strands of hair falling out of the perfect bun she had left the house with. "Emma, a little back up here?" she asked in exasperation.

Emma looked at her brunette best friend. "Your driving scares the shit out of me," she said honestly, causing Ruby to snort.

"Well we all can't drive like Grandma Tink."

"Excuse you!" Tink exclaimed. "I do not drive like a grandmother! I am a safe driver."

Ruby glanced at the blonde in the rearview mirror. "Pretty sure driving thirty-five in a fifty-five constitutes you being a grandma driver."

As her two best friends continued to argue the difference between safe driving and old lady driving Emma looked out the window to the highway around them, her mind drifting to the past week. She had fallen into the roles of part time deputy and secretary seamlessly, her father and Killian working together on her schedule to make sure there was no overlap and that she wasn't stretched too thin. It had been a relatively easy first week at the station. She had been paired with Graham on the days she had worked, the Northern Irishman making the shifts, particularly the overnight one on Wednesday, lively despite the slow crime rate of Storybrooke. Their conversations over coffee and tea had made the time pass and she found herself seeing Graham not as one of her father's long time employees or the older, mysterious man she had once had a crush on, but a genuine friend.

Her first week at the church, on the other hand, had been filled with sexual tension and conflicting emotions.

She still felt guilty for having masturbated to thoughts of him, her cheeks reddening even now as she thought about her momentary lapse in judgement. God, her mother would demand she bathe for the rest of her life in holy water if she somehow found out. She told herself it had been an involuntary reaction to not having sex in over a year along with her erotic and very vivid dreams as of late and had vehemently refused to give in to her body's insistent demand for another release since. She didn't trust herself to masturbate and not think about the good Father and she wasn't going to fall further into that sin, not when a friendship or tentative respect of sorts had started to develop between them - that and the fact he was a priest and her boss.

She may have sworn off all forms of self love but it was impossible to not admire the fine specimen of a man that sat less than ten feet away from her four days a week. He may wear the robes of the Holy office but everything he did dripped of decadent sin. More than once she had become distracted from her work as she sat and watched him play with his ever present red Sharpie, twirling the writing implement he used to mark changes on his upcoming sermon with nimble fingers or subconsciously letting his tongue run along the cap slowly. Emma had instantly imagined that tongue taking the same thorough sweep of her clit as it did the tip of the Sharpie and she had been unable to look him in the eye the rest of the day, her dreams that night filled with the image of his dark head between her thighs as he brought her to completion over and over again. Her third day at the church he had walked into the office wearing those blue basketball shorts and white A-shirt - someone had come for a late confession and he had apparently been in the garden on break when she texted him - and her mouth had practically watered at all the muscle on display and had damn near had to pick her jaw off her desk when he reached for his robes on the back of the door, his low hanging shorts revealing a hint of hip muscle.

She had turned a thousand shades of red when he had turned to find her staring at him but then he had done the oddest thing - instead of ignoring her blatant ogling or smiling shyly, both responses you would expect from a priest, he had smirked. A dirty little smirk with a glint of _something_ in his eye and before she could process what the actual fuck had just happened, he pulled his robes on and left. When she went to the kitchen that night for dinner nothing had been said about the moment in his office and they had carried on with their normal dinner conversation. But she had begun to notice that about the good Father - for the most part he was everything you would expect a priest to be and then there were moments when she would catch a glimpse of the man beneath the white collar, like that day in her parent's living room as they had looked at the pictures atop the fireplace. He seemed to be able to flip the switch without any effort - the pious priest one minute and flirting with her the next - but it was something they never commented on, almost as if it was an unspoken rule between them.

Which was confusing as hell to her because a priest should mostly certainly _not_ be flirting with her under any capacity… right? Although, she was one to talk after her little stunt yesterday…..

" _That is the most absurd thing I've ever heard!"_

_Emma almost snorted her coffee as she took in the priest's affronted face across the kitchen island. They had just finished another amazing dinner he had cooked - baked salmon with a spicy chipotle sauce and asparagus - and were enjoying a cup of coffee and tea respectively when the conversation had turned to how overly sexualized the media was nowadays. She had commented that it had been going on since the dawn of time and at his perplexed look had offered her opinion that if read a certain way, some bible verses could be rather suggestive._

_Naturally, the priest had been appalled._

" _Absurd or not, Father, it's the truth."_

_Killian scoffed, taking a long sip of his tea before replying. "Song lyrics and poems, perhaps, but not bible verses."_

_Emma raised a blonde eyebrow. "Can't say I've ever read a poem that made me weak at the knees."_

_Sitting his Disney Captain Hook mug down - she still couldn't believe a grown man drank out of something like that - he motioned toward her. "Well alright, name a verse then."_

_Before Emma could open her mouth to prove her point his cell phone began to ring. Throwing her an apologetic smile he fished the phone out of his pants pocket, answering it with his customary greeting, "This is Father Jones." She watched as he nodded his head a few times, a frown deepening on his face the longer the person talked._

" _Oh, I am so sorry to hear that Mrs. Brown. Yes, of course, I'll be right over. Tell them to just pull up in front of the church and I'll be waiting for them."_

_She set her mug down as he hung up the phone. "Everything okay?"_

_Killian nodded. "Mrs. Brown's husband had a stroke and they don't expect him to make it through the night. She wants me to administer last rites before he passes."_

_Emma's eyes widened. "Oh, God. Yes, go. I'll take care of the dishes and lock up if you aren't back by the time I leave."_

" _Are you sure?" He asked even as he stood, moving to button his dress shirt that he had unbuttoned while they were in the sweltering office earlier that day._

" _Of course," she answered, standing herself and grabbing the few dishes left on the kitchen island. "Do you need a ride to the hospital?"_

_He shook his head. "Mrs. Brown's cousin is already on his way to pick me up."_

_He had left seconds later and she had went about cleaning their dinner dishes. After loading the dishwasher and making sure the kettle had fresh water in it in case he wanted another cup of tea when he got back, she had made her way back to their office, gingerly sipping at her own topped off coffee as she went. She still had a few more hours before she went home and although she had answered all the emails that were in the church's inbox, she could get some filing done. Passing Killian's desk on the way to her own she glanced down to see his Bible open on his desk, their interrupted conversation from the kitchen coming to mind. She paused, tapping a fingernail on the side of her coffee mug in thought. He_ _**had** _ _told her to name a suggestive bible verse, and the competitive part of Emma was keen to show the priest just how wrong he was…._

_Sitting her coffee mug on his desk with a smirk, she had went to work._

Emma was brought out of the memory by Tink shouting at Ruby again to slow down, just in time to see a large, green sign on the other side of the highway that marked the airport.

"Hey, Rubes, we're coming up on the airport exit."

Flicking the blinker on and with a quick glance over her shoulder Ruby crossed three lanes of traffic without once taking her foot off the gas, causing Emma to once again grasp the 'oh shit' handle as Tink cursed colorfully from the backseat. Once they were safely off the exit she threw her brunette best friend a glare that was met with an innocent shrug.

"What? I didn't want to miss the exit."

Emma simply rolled her eyes as Ruby maneuvered them off the main road and into the international side of the airport. With it being the height of summer in the South the airport was packed and they had to circle the parking garage twice before finding a spot. There was a brief argument over payment - _"Why do I have to pay an all day parking price when I'm only going to be here twenty minutes to pick someone up?!" "Tink, just pay the fee and take it up with your Congressman later."_ \- and then the three of them were making their way into the arrivals area. They waded through the sea of humanity until they were stood at the very front, each one peering out into the crowd that was piling out of the arrivals corridor.

After ten minutes Tink sighed. "Does anyone see Elsa? Her plane landed twenty minutes ago, she should be out here by now."

Emma was about to say no when a flash of very familiar blonde hair caught her eye. "There she is!" she exclaimed excitedly. The crowd seemed to part at the sound of her voice to reveal the fourth member of their little gang, her purple suitcase rolling behind her. Although technically the youngest of the four of them, having been born in late December, Elsa Arrendale had always been the mother figure of their group. She was the voice of reason when an idea that was going to end badly was suggested, like the time a sixteen-year-old Emma and Ruby thought it would be a wonderful idea to ride Grumpy's golf cart down main street at two in the morning while slightly drunk, and had always been far more mature than her age. She was slightly taller than the rest of them, her hair a lighter blonde than Emma's and currently in its trademark braid over her shoulder. She was stunning even without a stitch of makeup on and looked effortless in a pair of black leggings, black flip flops, and an oversized light blue t-shirt that hung off her left shoulder.

"Elsa!" all three of them shouted at once, waving their arms to get their friend's attention. The second her eyes landed on them she smiled wildly, running the rest of the short distance and flinging her arms around them as they shared a group hug.

"Oh my God, I have missed you guys!" Elsa laughed as she pulled away from them, her blue eyes moving from Ruby to Tink and finally landing on Emma. She smiled softly. "It's good to have you back home, Emma… despite the circumstance that brought you back."

Emma returned her smile, giving the other blonde's hand a quick squeeze. "It's good to be home."

Elsa's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Is it? I thought you'd already be planning an escape route back to the city or somewhere new, like Atlanta."

"Now why would she want to do that when she works part time for a stud muffin?" Ruby smirked, moving to take Elsa's suitcase from her. The light blonde smiled her thanks before turning her attention back to Emma as the group made their way out of the airport.

"A stud muffin, hmm?" Elsa questioned in that motherly tone she had adapted over the years when it came to them. Emma rolled her eyes.

"He's a _priest_ , Elsa."

"He may not be able to touch but that doesn't mean you can't look, Emma," Tink pointed out with a mischief wink to Ruby.

Emma sighed. "Do you see what I've had to put up with while you were gone?"

Elsa laughed as they entered the parking garage. "Well, Father Jones _is_ a good looking man…."

Emma looked at her best-friend in shock, ignoring the momentary jolt of jealousy. "Elsa!"

"What?" the light blonde asked innocently with a shrug of her shoulder. "I have eyes, Emma, and he is handsome."

Before Emma could reply - not that she knew _what_ to say to the usually straight laced Elsa admitting a priest was hot - they arrived at Ruby's car and Elsa stopped dead in her tracks.

"Ruby, that's your car."

Ruby snorted as she unlocked her prized possession. "Glad to see that the time in Norway hasn't fried your brain. Yes, it's my car."

"No," Elsa said, shaking her head, "That's _your_ car."

Opening the driver side door Ruby raised a dark eyebrow. "Maybe I spoke too soon about the frying your brain thing."

Elsa looked from Tink to Emma in shock. "You decided to come pick me up in _Ruby's_ car which she never lets anyone else drive but herself. _Ruby is driving?_ "

Emma shared a sheepish look with Tink. "Tink's car is in the shop and it was either Ruby's well air-conditioned car or my very cramped bug with no AC."

Elsa sighed heavily. "We're going to die."

* * *

Breathing raggedly through the humid predawn air on his Saturday morning run, Killian came to a conclusion - he had bloody well lost his mind.

It had been almost a week since Emma had come to work for him and he had never been more painfully aware of the fact that he hadn't had a sexual release in almost eight years. She had been a bloody temptress all week long, never knowing the little things she did that filled his mind with lustful thoughts. He had stared at her ass for a full minute on Monday as she bent over to rifle through the filing cabinet, unable to move his eyes from the vision that was her ass in those skin tight jeans, especially once he realised there was no panty line. Tuesday afternoon she accidentally poured half a bottle of water on herself while sat at her desk, the combination of wet fabric and the cold air from her desk fan quickly causing a pebbled nipple to show through her shirt. He had never been more thankful for the long robes of his office as he hurriedly left the office with a raging erection.

Friday, however, had almost been his undoing. He had been elbow deep in finishing up this week's sermon, the only sound in the small office that of their desk fans working over time when a litany of curses had erupted from her direction. The priest part of him had been shocked at the language but the former sailor in him was impressed with her word choices, some even he hadn't known existed. He watched her face pale upon realising she had just cussed inside a church and through her stuttered apology had ascertained that the scheduling program on the computer had crashed for the third time that week and wouldn't open.

Waving away her continued apologies about her language - _"I was a sailor once, love."_ \- he had made his way over to her desk to try to sort the problem out. There had been no lustful intentions when he went over to help her but confronted with the unobstructed view down her tank top as he leaned over her shoulder to fix the computer program, he had found his mind taking a decidedly sharp turn to lustful musings. It had been a blistering hot day, by far the hottest of the summer yet, and Emma had shed her normal t-shirt hours before for the cooler tank top beneath it. The tops of her breasts had been on full display to him, the tank top cut low enough and the angle he stood at giving him a glimpse of a lone freckle on her right breast, and he had immediately thought about how glorious they would look bouncing above him as she rode him hard and fast. That erection was almost unbearable and hadn't been helped by Emma stretching as he worked on the program, the delightful sound she had made going straight to his cock.

Shaking his head and willing his body not to respond to the memory - running with an erection was not something he enjoyed - he made the final turn around the lake.

What had he been thinking hiring Emma? He knew she was a temptation for him, that the mere sight of her tested his resolve to hold true to his vows and yet he had done it without hesitation. He wanted to believe he had done it as a way to show his commitment to God and the priesthood, that he could remain faithful to his vows even with temptation staring him in the face twenty-four hours a week but deep down a voice that sounded suspiciously like his older brother whispered that it was a lie. Killian hadn't hired her to prove his loyalty to the church, he had done it so he could be around her more. He _wanted_ to be trapped in that small office with her for hours on end, to be so close to her that he could smell her flower scented body wash and to have a reason to text her randomly throughout the day, even if it was under the guise of work.

He wanted to be tempted by her and he hated himself for it.

His speed increased at the thought, the hard beat of ACDC's _You Shook Me All Night Long_ pounding in his ears. He was a priest. He shouldn't want temptation, had preached about it and the path of sin it inevitably lead to for years… but he wanted it. He even _liked_ it and Emma Nolan was nothing but pure temptation to him - from the way her jeans hugged that pert little ass to the sinful sounds she made when she turned on her desk fan to fight the humid office space, he enjoyed her oblivious teasing. It sent a thrill through him, made him feel alive for the first time since Liam had died, pushing him to be reckless and openly flirt with her. It was harmless, remarks and actions that if anyone else witnessed they wouldn't think twice about it but he knew he was playing with fire. But he would never act on it. As much as he liked flirting with her and the feelings she was beginning to stir inside him, his vows were more important. He had chosen this life as his penance for his part in Liam's death and he wouldn't do anything to jeopardise that.

Liam's memory deserved more than him screwing up yet another facet of his life.

Coming to a stop at the edge of the park he gulped in air. It wasn't just a physical attraction though, he genuinely liked her as a person as well. Their late dinner conversations were some of the most mentally stimulating conversations he had had in years, Emma's time spent living outside Storybrooke gave her a more well rounded view of the world than her fellow townsmen.

When not seeking him out for spiritual advice he had found the residents of Storybrooke tended to converse about small town matters - the new tax Regina was planning on implementing in the Spring or the upcoming high school football season - and were staunchly rooted in their single minded views on the more delicate topics. But not Emma. She talked about global events and their far reaching effects and he had learned quickly that Emma Nolan wasn't one to easily back down from a lively debate when it came to hot topics.

She was kind, sharp witted, and although she didn't believe in God or the church's teachings, she held an immense respect for those who did.

He also wasn't deaf. He had heard the whispering about her past, more pricelessly the reason behind her return. It wasn't often but the occasional tidbit made its way to him and he knew she had moved back to Storybrooke after ending a long term relationship - the exact details behind her breakup were unknown, and Killian had learned long ago not to put stock in the reasons local gossipers gave. She had yet to mention it to him in all their talks and he wasn't one to pry, more than patient for her to become comfortable enough to confide in him. It wasn't just the reason for her recent breakup he wanted to help her with though. He had spotted it from the moment they met but being around her the past week had only solidified for him his initial gut feeling - someone, and not her recent ex, had hurt her badly. She hid the pain well but he could see it lurking within the green depths of her eyes, a sadness that spoke of heartbreak and betrayal, a pain he knew all too well. Memories of dark hair and a bewitching smile flashed through his mind, of secret rendezvous and whispered words of affection melting into anger and betrayal.

He shook his head as he completed his post run stretching. That was the past, another life time, and he was a different man now.

Slowly making his way back to the darkened church, Killian sighed. At the end of the day it didn't matter how much he liked the temptation Emma presented him with or how much he liked her as a person, they could never be more than friends. To want anything more was a sin, one he was not willing to commit. He ignored the voice, once again sounding suspiciously like his brother, that whispered that was a lie too as he made his way through the side door of the church.

He was halfway to his room when the music blasting through his earphones ceased. Frowning in confusion he removed the iPhone from the pocket of his shorts only to find that it was dead. _Odd_ , he thought, _he always plugged it in at night before going to bed…_ Except last night he hadn't. He had gotten a call just as he and Emma finished dinner about a parishioner who had a stroke and wouldn't survive, the man's wife calling to ask him to give last rites before he passed. It had been late by the time he returned to the church, having stayed to comfort the family as the man took his last breaths and to help with the immediate arrangements, and he had went straight to his room and collapsed. His phone charger was still in the office from where he had been charging it the previous day. Sighing deeply he changed direction, heading toward his office to retrieve it.

Flipping the office light on he made his way around his desk, pulling the charger with perhaps a little more force than was necessary from the wall outlet. He refused to admit to himself he was annoyed with himself for letting it die incase Emma texted him - not that she would be up before nine with it being her day off from both jobs. Turning to leave, something on his desk caught his eye. Everything was as he had left it the previous afternoon - laptop closed, the third draft of tomorrow's sermon marked all over with red Sharpie next to it under two paper weights, his opened Bible off to the side with a pink sticky note on a page…

Killian paused. He _never_ put sticky notes in his Bible, always preferring to highlight passages in a specific color or just the bookmark he had been using since he joined the seminary. Why would there be a sticky note on it now? Moving closer, he could see handwriting that was most definitely not his on the brightly pink colored paper.

_**Read this like you are trying to seduce someone and tell me it's not suggestive in the slightest! - E** _

He blinked in confusion for a second before realising what the note was referring too. Their conversation about suggestive wording from the night before came flooding back, and he smiled as he reread her words. Gently removing the sticky note he could see that she had highlighted a passage in yellow, one he had become familiar with since she had walked through his door:

" _No temptation has overtaken you but such as is common to man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, so that you will be able to endure it." 1 Corinthians 10:13_

Well, she wasn't wrong. If said, as she had suggested, like you were trying to seduce someone with the correct emphasis on certain words like _temptation, escape,_ and _endure_ the verse about God giving you the means to overcome temptation did become highly suggestive. He found it intriguing that she had went out of her way after the abrupt end to their little argument to prove her point to him, and that she had done so in a way as to catch him off guard. Well two could play that game.

She had mentioned she had never read a poem that could make her weak at the knees and if there was one thing Killian Jones loved, it was a challenge.

* * *

They in fact did not die on the way home, although it wasn't from lack of trying on Ruby's part. After arriving back in Storybrooke the girls had a late lunch at Granny's, catching up over grilled cheese sandwiches and onion rings, their laughter loud as Elsa regaled them with stories about staying on her elderly grandparents' farm and being chased by a goat named Olaf almost every day as she fed the animals. Granny kept them supplied with sweet tea as they talked and once again refused to accept any payment from the girls, leading Emma to wonder just how much revenue the Widow Lucas had lost over the years with feeding the four of them.

Somewhere between the second plate of onion rings and sixth glass of sweet tea they had decided a proper girls night was in order to celebrate Elsa's return and they had parted ways shortly before three with plans to meet at Tink's house later. Elsa had headed off to Ingrid's ice cream shop to see how things had fared in her absence while Tink begrudgingly accepted a ride from Ruby to pick up her car from the mechanic on the edge of town. Having met Ruby and Tink that morning in town, Emma simply walked the short distance from Granny's to the police station where she had left her bug, thankful she had opted for a simple white sundress that morning as the afternoon sun beat down on her bare shoulders.

The humidity wrapped around her like a blanket and by the time she reached her car fifteen minutes later she was pouring sweat, the end of her ponytail damp from where it had brushed her sweat soaked back. She cursed as she sat down in her car - even with the windows rolled down the inside still felt like an oven - and just as she started the bug she heard her cell phone go off, the familiar chime telling her it was a church email. Reaching into the passenger seat where she had tossed it she quickly unlocked her iPhone and opened up the email, groaning as she read the email from a band mom informing her the bake sale date for next month needed to be changed to another day as it conflicted with the start of marching band practice. Exiting her email she tried to pull up the church's schedule app on her phone, huffing in annoyance when it failed to load after three tries.

 _Of fucking course_. She couldn't remember if the new date they wanted was free and the last thing she wanted to do was tell them they could have it and something else already be planned. Sitting her phone back in the passenger seat she grumbled as she buckled her seat belt - she'd just have to pop by the church and look at the actual schedule book before emailing the band mom back. They had agreed to meet at Tink's house by 4:30 so she had plenty of time to run to the church before swinging back home to grab a couple changes of clothes and heading to Tink's place.

She called her father on her way to the church to let him know she made it back home safely and about her plans for the evening, laughing when he commented that Ruby must be losing her touch in her old age if she didn't kill them with her reckless driving. She briefly talked to her mother, promising not to drink too heavily and to give Elsa her regards before hanging up as she pulled into the church's semi-deserted parking lot. Dropping her cell phone and keys into the little pocket on the side of her sundress she exited the car and quickly made her way inside the equally humid church. A few parishioners were sitting in the pews, undoubtedly awaiting their turn for confession and she silently made her way to the back of the church. Opening the office door she took one step in before stopping dead in her tracks, her eyes widening even as her jaw dropped.

There stood Killian in all his smoldering hot glory beside his desk, dressed in a pair of black dress pants and nothing else.

_Holy shit._

The small glimpse she had seen the other day was nothing compared to the full and unobstructed view before her now. He was fit, muscular in all the right places with firm abs and broad shoulders, the kind a girl could hold on to while he sent her over the edge. The dark chest hair she had only seen fleetingly was on full display, covering his chest and tapering down his firm stomach to disappear into the waistband of his pants that were slung low on his hips, revealing the jut of his hipbone. She knew she should look away. He was a priest after all, a man who had sworn his life and body to the church but Emma's eyes refused to move - even her most erotic dreams couldn't do the real thing justice.

"Emma?"

Jerking her eyes up from the body that could have been an inspiration for the Greek sculptures of old, she saw piercing blue eyes watching her and she felt her face heat up. As if it wasn't bad enough that she had been staring at a priest's body like she wanted to devour it, but he had caught her doing it. _Well if she wasn't going to hell before she certainly was now!_

"I-I'm sorry," she quickly stammered, stepping fully into the office and letting the door shut behind her. "I wasn't… expecting you to be in here and- and…."

"And half dressed?" he supplied for her.

"Yeah."

"My apologies, I spilled tea all over my shirt as I was headed to the confessional and I keep a spare in the office." His brows furrowed in thought. "What are you doing here? It's your day off."

"Oh, I- um, got an email about a bake sale date changing and the app wouldn't pull up on my phone so I thought I'd just swing by here real quick and just add it to the book."

"Makes sense. Did Miss Arrendale land safely?"

Emma nodded. "She did. We're going to have a small get-together tonight at Tink's house for her."

"Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"My eyes are up here, lass."

Feeling her cheeks redden even further she yanked her eyes back up to Killian's face. She hadn't even realised her eyes had moved down to his chest and she found it extremely difficult not to let them wander back when all _that_ was right in front of her.

"I am so sorry-"

Killian chuckled, moving to lean against the front of his desk, his arms crossing over his bare chest. "Don't be. The human body is one of God's greatest creations. It's meant to be admired, to be studied…" His tongue swiped along his lower lip as his eyes darkened, a sinful smirk tugging at the corner of of his mouth. "To be explored."

Emma swallowed against the sudden dryness in her mouth. The coil of desire that she had barely been able to restrain all week igniting with a vengeance and she felt her entire body heat up as the priest's eyes flickered down her body, the light sundress suddenly feeling like too much fabric against her heated skin. Somewhere beneath the desire beginning to cloud her mind she wondered why he hadn't put his shirt back on yet.

"Is that so?" she whispered breathlessly, her eyes sliding from Killian's face down to his neck, the desire to sink her teeth into the space where it met his shoulder almost overwhelming her.

"Indeed," he murmured thoughtfully. A beat of silence passed between them, each watching the other and then he was uncrossing his arms, pushing off his desk and walking toward her with a swagger to his stride that she had never seen before. She took a step backwards as he drew nearer, her back coming into contact with the office door, the wood cold against her overheated skin. Four long strides and he was inches in front of her, the heat from his own body hitting her and Emma's breath hitched, her eyes flying up to those midnight blue orbs.

"The female form - a divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot," he recited softly, bringing his hands up to rest on the door either side of her head. "It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction and I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor- all falls aside but myself and it." Emma's heart beat quickened as he shifted forward a fraction of an inch until she could feel his breath ghosting along her lips. "Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs… love-flesh swelling and _deliciously_ aching."

 _Sweet Jesus._ She was certain she had never been turned on more in her entire life than in that moment, her thighs clamping together beneath her sundress even as her chest began to visibly rise and fall with her breathing. His eyes never left hers as he continued to speak and she could have swore she saw a spark of desire amid the darkened blue of his eyes.

"Quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice… Undulating into the willing and yielding day, lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-fleshed day."

"That's not scripture," Emma breathed, the coil in her belly tightening even further. He looked like the snake that had tricked Eve into tasting the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, eyes hooded and dark with desire, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"No, it's not," he murmured huskily, his eyes dropping to her lips. "It's part of a poem by Whitman."

Emma's eyes fell to his lips as she bit her own. They were close enough that all it would take was a small movement forward to kiss him, to finally know if they moved against hers as smoothly as they did in her dreams. She knew he was thinking of kissing her too by the way he wet his lips and the subtle way his right hand wrapped around her ponytail, almost in anticipation of the act. Her eyes fluttered shut as she felt his breath grow nearer, her hand already rising to grasp his hip….

"Father Jones?"

Just like when her mother had interrupted their first almost kiss they sprang apart - well, he did, seeing as the office door was at Emma's back and she couldn't really go anywhere.

"Yes?" he called out, moving to the corner of the office where a his spare dress shirt hung on a coat rack.

"I just wanted to check on you since you weren't in the confessional yet," came the concerned voice of a parishioner from the other side of the door. Feeling her stomach knot at what had almost happened again, Emma quickly moved to her own desk as Killian threw on his clean shirt.

"Yes, I spilled tea on my shirt and I had to change. I'll be out there in a few minutes."

She could hear the retreat of the parishioner but Emma refused to look up from the schedule as Killian moved about the office, probably straightening his clothes and donning his priest robes. Neither said a word to each other, the silence in the small office almost deafening. She saw him pause by the door out of the corner of her eye but she kept her attention down, intently erasing names from the book and she breathed a sigh of relief when he left the office without a word. Guilt, shame, and sexual tension swirled within her and Emma hastily made the final changes to the schedule and then bolted from the office like it was on fire. She skirted the chapel entirely, opting to go out the back kitchen door to avoid even the possibility of Killian not being in the confessional yet.

It wasn't until she had rounded the church and was halfway to her car when his whispered words registered with her, bringing her to a dead stop in the middle of the parking lot. He had recited a poem that not only made her weak at the knees, but had her underwear absolutely drenched - his one-up to her leaving the highlighted passage and sticky note in his Bible.

"Son of a bitch."

* * *

Eight hours later Emma was completely and utterly drunk off her ass.

After realising Killian had more than proved her wrong and pushing down her embarrassment for almost kissing a priest _again_ , she had swung by her house to pick up work clothes for tomorrow, said hello to her parents, and promptly drove to Tink's house where she had downed her first glass of wine before five. Ruby and Elsa had arrived shortly afterward and the mini celebration to welcome Elsa home had went into full swing. Her friends had commented on the speed with which she was finishing off her wine but Emma waved the questions off, vaguely commenting on it being an over reactive band mom's fault - the last thing she needed her friends to know was how worked up she was after seeing a priest without his shirt. All she wanted to do was drink and forget about how she had felt with her back pressed against the door and his husky voice in her ear.

And _drink_ she had.

Between the four of them they had obliterated not only Tink's small collection of six bottles but the additional two Elsa had brought from her house, Emma drinking the equivalent of four bottles alone. They had sat around Tink's spacious living room laughing and drinking for hours, eating the pizza that one of them was sane enough to order before the wine had begun to flow to help with the inevitable hangovers that would come in the morning. Elsa vented about Anna's ludicrous wedding plans - _"She wants a reindeer there - for a_ _ **September**_ _wedding!"_ \- and at one point Ruby had suggested a drunken game of Scrabble which quickly devolved into who could play the dirtiest word, although they were all too drunk to spell by that point.

They had retired to bed an hour ago, Tink to her own room and the other girls to seperate guest rooms but Emma wasn't anywhere close to being tired. The buzz from the wine had worn off slightly and while still pleasantly drunk, her barely sober mind couldn't let go of the fact that not only had the priest proven her wrong but the _way_ in which he had done it. His method of attack was always going to work - the muscles on display, the husky voice, the intoxicating scent of pure male - hell, he could have been reciting the phonebook to her in that moment and her panties would have still been soaked. The bastard probably timed his shirtless strike for her arrival at the church. It was a low blow is what it was and the competitive side of Emma, the same part of her that started this whole mess by highlighting the Bible verse, flared and demanded retribution.

Father Jones wasn't the only one who had the power of sex at his advantage.

Clumsily reaching for her phone that lay on the nightstand, she snuggled back under the large white comforter of Tink's guest bed. It was a quarter til midnight but she knew Killian would still be up. He had mentioned on more than one occasion that despite the hours he worked he was still a bit of an insomniac, a holdover from his younger days in the Royal Navy and he never went to bed before one in the morning, particularly on a Sunday night. Blinking against even the dim light of her phone she tapped her safari app, a quick search yielding the perfect response in her retribution attack. If she had been even the littlest bit sober she would have known how horrible of an idea this was, but Emma was far from sober. Bringing up her messages, she giggled as she selected _Father Jones_ from among the list of those she had recently texted and began to type.

* * *

Pausing on his final edits for tomorrow's sermon Killian leaned back in his desk chair and stretched his shoulders, groaning slightly as muscles that had been hunched over a laptop for the better part of four hours twinged uncomfortably. He had technically finished the sermon that morning but he needed to keep his mind busy after his run-in with Emma that afternoon, knowing if he tried to watch tv or read his current book he would just think obsessively about her.

Not that that wasn't happening anyway.

His eyes flickered to the closed door and he saw her there again, dressed in that demure white sundress with her hair pulled up, eyes wide as she stared at him. He hadn't expected to see her until tomorrow afternoon and had an entire plan for showing her just how wrong _she_ could be when it came to the suggestive written word, but seeing her unable to tear her eyes away from his bare chest had flipped something within him, and before he knew it he was in front of her, boxing her in with his arms as he whispered Whitman's work like he was trying to seduce her.

Which he certainly had not been doing. That would go against every vow he had taken upon entering the priesthood. No, he was simply proving to her that a poem could be taken suggestively, something he would have done even if he hadn't been shirtless and seen the way she stared at him. _Keep telling yourself that, little brother._ Scoffing at the voice of his older brother in his head, Killian reached for the crystal glass sitting on a coaster next to his laptop and took a long pull of the dark amber liquid. While there was no church law stating priests couldn't drink it was something Killian rarely indulged in, not wanting to make a habit of it and have it affect his priestly duties in any way, never knowing when he would be needed by his parishioners. He had had the bottle of rum sitting in his lower desk drawer since he entered the priesthood, only allowing himself a glass under highly stressful situations.

He refused to admit that he had drunk more since meeting Emma Nolan than he had in his entire eight years in the priesthood.

Before he could finish the rest of the rum his phone beeped, alerting him to an incoming text. Frowning and glancing at the clock on his laptop, he wondered who could possibly be texting him at this time of night. His parishioners would call him if his services were required, Belle was asleep before nine like clockwork every night, and Robin was on vacation with Regina and their adopted son… Unlocking his phone, he pulled up his messages and his eyebrows shot nearly to his hairline at seeing that the text was from Emma.

_**Emma: You know, this Walt Whitman guy also said 'battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won'... you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?** _

A grin slowly spread across his face as he read her words. So, the lass had finally realised that had been his response to her little highlighting game. He was amused that she had apparently went on a Whitman quote search and he had to give her points for the quote she had chosen to use. Downing the remainder of his rum, he started to type his response.

* * *

Emma was blearily scrolling through her Facebook when the low ding of a text message sounded in the quiet room, and she ignored the giddy rush that shot through her as she hastily opened her messages.

_**Father Jones: Afraid I wouldn't, lass. I don't lose battles as I proved this afternoon.** _

Emma snorted - well someone was rather cocky. Time to bring him down a peg or two.

* * *

Killian was sitting the half full bottle of rum on his desk when his phone chimed again.

_**Emma: Oh, did you win something this afternoon?** _

"Is that how you want to play it?" he murmured to his empty office. The rational part of his brain warned that this was dangerous territory, quickly slipping past the tentative line of flirting they had wordlessly set over the past week. He ignored it as he poured himself another glass.

* * *

_**Father Jones: Come now, love, you and I both know I won that little debate by a long shot.** _

Emma rolled her eyes.

* * *

_**Emma: Hmmm, no, I don't think you did. Pretty sure it was a draw there, Father.** _

Killian scoffed, downing the second glass of rum in one go before responding.

* * *

_**Father Jones: I beg to differ. You were a speechless mess beneath me while I simply had a good chuckle over your little attempt. Did anyone tell you it was bad form to highlight in another man's Bible?** _

"I'd like to be more than a speechless mess beneath you, that's for sure," Emma muttered into the empty guest room.

* * *

_**Emma: It was a hot day! Did anyone tell you that you shouldn't leave your Bible out for random people to prove their point in?** _

Killian chuckled - he had to admit, he liked her sass. Another glass of rum disappeared as he thought out his response.

* * *

_**Father Jones: Keep telling yourself that, lass. Was that you proving your point?** _

_**Emma: Please, if I had used the same nefarious means you did we both know you wouldn't be asking that.** _

_**Father Jones: What are these nefarious ways that you speak of?** _

_**Emma: Oh don't play coy, Father! You know exactly what you were doing.** _

_**Father Jones: And what exactly would you say I was doing?** _

* * *

_**Emma: Using your provocative powers to make me weak in the knees.** _

Grinning like a fool as a surge of pride shot through him, his fingers flew over the keypad.

* * *

_**Father Jones: A-ha! So you do admit it made you weak in the knees!** _

Emma groaned, letting her phone briefly fall to the side. She hadn't meant to admit that, dammit!

* * *

_**Emma: Fine - yes, yes. I concede defeat, you made me weak in the knees… among other things.** _

A dark eyebrow rose as he read her words, desire and rum swirling through him at the possibilities. Ignoring the glass all together, he took a large gulp of rum straight from the bottle.

* * *

_**Father Jones: Oh? Like what?** _

Emma bit her lip, briefly contemplating answering truthfully or waving the comment away - answering truthfully won in her drunk state.

* * *

_**Emma: Well, let's just say soaked panties are not the most comfortable thing to drive in.** _

Killian groaned, his cock twitching at her words.

* * *

_**Father Jones: No, I imagine they are not. It's a situation that can be… handled, though.** _

_**Emma: Since when do priests abdicate masturbation?** _

* * *

_**Father Jones: I wasn't always a priest, remember. ;p It tends to get lonely on a ship out in the middle of the ocean. But you don't have to handle it alone.** _

Emma closed her eyes as the image of the priest taking matters into his own hands flashed through her mind and she clenched her thighs together to relieve the sudden ache in her clit. The desire and wine in her blood made her bolder, and she typed her response without thought.

* * *

_**Emma: Please, you couldn't handle it.** _

Feeling the part of him that never backed down from a challenge rise up, Killian fired off his response before taking another drink.

* * *

_**Father Jones: Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it, love.** _

Emma smirked as she read Killian's response. _Thinks he could handle it, huh?_ Throwing the comforter back with a drunken flourish she stumbled toward the bathroom door, thankful in her inebriated state that all of Tink's guest rooms came with their own private bathroom. Flipping the light switch on she arranged her hair quickly, really too drunk to care about the state it was in and pulled up the camera on her phone. Leaning against the bathroom door frame she snapped a picture of her reflection in the mirror, smirking as she fumbled to turn off the light.

Once safely back in bed with the covers wrapped around her, she hit send.

* * *

Killian was bringing the bottle of rum to his lips when his phone dinged again. Taking a long pull, he opened the text conversation with Emma and promptly choked on his rum. It was a picture of her leaning against the doorframe of what he assumed was a bathroom, hooded eyes and an innocent smirk pulling at the corner of her lips, dressed in a yellow tank top with the right strap falling down her arm to reveal an obstructed view of her shoulder and collarbone, the left side of her tank top riding up to reveal the simple white underwear she wore and nothing else. He was absolutely gobsmacked. Even with her blonde locks a riotous mess over her left shoulder she was a vision, reminding him of the sirens of old who would lure sailors to their death with just a smile and outstretched hand. His cock fully hardened as his gaze swept over the image, taking in the curve of her hip that the raised tank top displayed and the fact she most certainly wasn't wearing a bra.

If the rum wasn't sitting warm in his belly and making his head fuzzy Killian would question why she was sending a picture like that to a priest but as those things were happening, the question never entered his mind. Noticing that there was a message attached to the bottom he scrolled down to read her words.

_**Emma: Sure you could handle this, Father? ;p** _

"Oh you have no idea, lass," he chuckled, wetting his lips as his fingers hovered over the keypad. Tapping out his reply he sat the phone next to his laptop and leaned back in his chair, hazy eyes falling on the now empty bottle of rum on his desk. Well, it certainly had been a long time since he drunk this much in one night he thought giddily. Deciding to retire to his room for the night as he awaited her response, he picked up his phone and staggering slightly - it really had been a long time since he drunk this much - cut off the lights and left his office.

Once in his room he changed into sleepwear and flopped onto the full sized bed, moaning slightly as he stretched cramped muscles from having sat at his desk for the last five hours. When his phone didn't ding after ten minutes he decided to try to sleep, figuring Emma had fallen asleep as it was well after midnight. He couldn't sleep though, his mind drifting to the picture of Emma whenever he closed his eyes and with a heavy sigh he decided to seek solace in his garden, hoping the night air combined with the rum in his system would lull him to sleep eventually. The breeze coming through his open bedroom window seemed to be a rare mild one for a Southern summer and he felt with some certainty that he wouldn't be suffocated by the ever present oppressing heat. With it being late he didn't bother changing out of his red plaid pajama pants and grey t-shirt, simply slipping on his shoes and grabbing a blanket as he headed toward the garden.

Spreading the blanket out by the patch of daisies that were in full bloom he made himself comfortable, tucking his arms under his head as a makeshift pillow. Breathing in the sweet aromas of the flowers mixed with the earthy undertones of the soil, he gazed up at the stars and let his mind wonder. He was so lost in thought that it wasn't until he heard the clearing of a throat that he knew he was no longer alone.

"Father Jones," came the almost whisper, and he turned his head to see Emma standing but a few feet away, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Killian unlocked his arms from behind his head and sat up, resting on his elbows. He took in the sight of her; she was the very image of perfection, bathed in the light of the full moon, dressed in the same white sundress she had worn that afternoon that came to a stop just above her knees. Her golden tresses were no longer messy but perfectly combed and flowing down her shoulders, and he couldn't help but think all she was missing was a crown of daisies to adorn her head like a halo.

He had no idea why she was here, but he found himself not questioning it one bit. Realizing he had yet to answer her he asked, voice stuttering at first, "Emma. I- it's late. What are you doing here?" His eyes landed on her nimble fingers that were twisting at the ends of her hair, the urge to feel them between his own fingers hitting him. She made no attempt to answer him, instead moving to the corner of the blanket where she slipped off her sandals and then padded over to him, stopping to look down at him as she worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

He didn't know what she was doing and when he started to make an attempt to get up she moved quickly, placing a foot on either side of him, watching with wide eyes as she slowly lowered herself to her knees and moved up a little to place herself right in his lap. He could feel the warmth of her through his pajama pants and he sat up fully, his arms instinctively going around her waist. Her hands slid up his stomach, taking his shirt along with them and his muscles tensed under the contact. He knew he should stop her but he couldn't bring himself to do it, not with the way their afternoon encounter had left him aching. Helping her remove his shirt she leaned forward to place wet kisses on his jaw, working her way up to nibble on his earlobe as her nails raked through his dusting of chest hair.

Killian ran his hand up Emma's back to bury it in her flowing hair, groaning heavily when she nipped at his neck. Pulling her back to look at him, blue locked onto green as he swirled his thumb and index finger around one golden lock before burying his hand fully in the blonde waterfall again, tugging lightly to make her expose her long neck to his greedy mouth. She moaned at the sensation, the sound going straight to his already hard cock and he scraped his teeth almost impatiently over her pulse point, feeling its rapid pace against his tongue. Working his way down to where her neck met her shoulder he began to worry a mark on her smooth flesh, uncaring who saw it as the drive to mark her as his overwhelmed him. Emma's hands curled in the hair at the nape of his neck as he moved farther down to her collarbone, the strap of her dress slipping off her shoulder like it had in the picture she had sent him not long along as she threw her head back.

"Killian," she moaned, rocking against him.

Tightening the arm still around her waist he pulled her flush to him, rolling them over to lay her gently on her back. Emma's legs opened naturally, cradling him like he was made for her as he pressed his lips to hers, his tongue running along her bottom lip and seeking entrance which she granted without hesitation. He got his first real taste of her as their tongues met and he moaned at the taste of cinnamon, never wanting to leave her mouth. She was returning the kiss with as much fervor as he was giving, one hand gripping his hair while the other grasped at his bare back, her tongue meeting his stroke for stroke. With one hand buried in her hair the other moved up her body to palm her breast over the soft fabric of her sundress, his hips rutting lightly into her at her deep moan. He was in sensory overload, surrounded by the intoxicating taste and smell of her and he pulled back for air, bearing his weight on the hand not in her hair. Looking down at her, golden hair sprawled out like a halo on the blanket, her green eyes the darkest shade he'd ever seen and lips red and swollen, he couldn't remember ever seeing a more beautiful sight. Emma smiled up at him innocently as she hooked her ankles around his waist and bucked her hips against his arousal.

Closing his eyes Killian clenched his jaw and exhaled heavily through his nose - she was clearly hell bent on testing all of his boundaries tonight.

Unlocking her ankles Emma set her feet flat on the ground, the bending of her knees making her dress settle higher up on her thighs and exposing her lace panties to his hungry gaze. He could remember the first glimpse he had gotten of them on that windy Sunday morning and he suddenly knew exactly what he wanted to do. Sitting back on his heels he licked at the corner of his lips in anticipation. Leaning forward and placing his hands just under her dress, he slid them slowly over soft skin, causing Emma to arch her back off the ground and allowing him to push the fabric fully up to expose her toned stomach. Pausing in his efforts, Killian caught sight of the under side of her breasts and unable to stop himself, ran the pads of his thumbs along the soft globes and was rewarded with the sound of Emma's breath hitching in her throat.

Pulling the dress the rest of the way off Emma leaned off the blanket long enough to discard it off to the side before lying back down, her left arm tucked under head and her right hand coming up to play idly with her breast. Killian watched her for a moment, taking in her alabaster skin glowing in the moonlight and the way she rolled her nipple through her fingers. Dropping down he captured her lips once more in a slow tangle of tongues, ignoring his body's insistent demand to just thrust into her and _take_.

He's dreamed about this moment too much to rush his exploration of her.

Emma moaned into the night air and chased his lips as he moved down to her left breast, flicking his tongue over the rose colored flesh until it pebbled beneath his ministrations. He could feel her fingers raking through his hair, pressing him to her and he worried the hardened peak between his teeth, a soft cry escaping her lips when he nipped at her and a moan as he soothed the sting with the flat of his tongue. Continuing his path down, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses, he dipped his tongue into her belly button, smiling when it elicited a breathless giggle from above. When he pressed a soft kiss above the waistband of her lacey boy shorts Emma let out a contented sigh and that he felt all the way to his heart.

His eyes darted up to her face, silently asking if he could continue and his answer came in the form of a small nod and whispered, " _Yes_." Hooking his fingers into the flimsy fabric he pulled them slowly down her legs, shoving them into the pocket of his pajamas when he finally slipped them off completely. He planted open mouthed kisses, licking and nipping at the tender flesh of her inner thigh as he made his way back to where he could see her already glistening and ready for him in the moonlight. Pausing only for a moment, he looked at her from beneath hooded eyes, watching her chest rise and fall almost in rhythm with the rapid beating of his own heart and he was once again struck with the thought that he had never seen anything more beautiful. Pleased with the pink blush he could see spreading across her chest, he lowered his head back down to the apex of her thighs.

"So beautiful, Emma," he rasped against her skin, closing his eyes as he breathed her in. In that moment he didn't care about his vows to the priesthood or his own mortal soul, all that mattered was the scent of her invading his senses and what was to come.

Testing the waters - it had been a long time since he had been with a woman - he placed his lips in a soft kiss on her damp curls and almost on instinct darted his tongue out into her slick folds. Emma's thighs instantly clenched around his head for a brief moment, a breathy moan ripping through her that sounded like _Killian_. Once her thighs released him he ran the flat of his tongue fully against her, moaning as he took in the tangy taste of her. When his teeth scraped her bundle of nerves Emma fisted her right hand into the inky darkness of his hair, pulling him closer to where she needed him most. He let out a small laugh at the movement, one he could tell vibrated through her core and up her spine as she pressed further into him.

Adding a finger and then another into her slick heat, stretching her deliciously, he imagined what it will feel like when he sinks his cock into her and he has to stop himself from the train of thought lest he comes in his pants like an adolescent schoolboy. Keeping his tongue on her clit and sucking hard he sinks a third finger into her, mumbling his praise of _good girl_ into her core. Wanting to watch her come undone he replaced his tongue with his thumb, trying to maintain the right pressure as she raised her hips off the blanket, chasing her release by fucking herself onto his fingers and it was the most erotic sight he had ever seen - Emma Nolan in the throes of passion.

His cock gave a particularly painful twinge when his eyes lowered to watch his fingers disappear into her core only to reappear covered in her wetness and he rutted his hips down into the blanket beneath them, needing to relieve some of his own discomfort. It was short lived but this wasn't about him, not tonight. He needed to see her take her pleasure more than he needed his own.

Feeling her warm walls begin to flutter around his fingers he quickly replaced his thumb with his mouth again, worrying her clit between his teeth while keeping his brutal pace of thrusting in and out of her. Emma's eyes snapped shut, her hips rising off the ground and thighs clenching around his head as she came with a silent scream. He kept pace, working her through her high and when her hips settled back down his actions turned to slow, tender ones. Removing his fingers he caressed her slowly, feeling the aftershocks of her release against his tongue. Resting his head on her thigh he watched in blissful amazement as her breathing started to slow, her blushed skin returning to its heavenly glow and her eyelashes flutter open. She was drawing lazy circles in his hair before she trailed her hand down to cup his cheek and he leaned into the touch, bringing his head up off her thigh.

"Bless me Father, indeed," she let out in a low breathy tone, smiling warmly down at him. The pad of her thumb ran over his bottom lip and a smirk formed at the corner of his mouth as he lightly nipped at her finger. When he feels her shudder beneath him he realizes they should probably seek cover. They've already run a great risk by being out in the open like this as long as they have been, even in the middle of the night. Besides, he plans on repeating their performance in the comfort of his bed - over and over again. Sitting up on his knees and grabbing her dress, he looked down at his angel bathed in moonlight, wondering how he got so lucky to have her like this. He starts to reach out his hand toward her, ever the gentleman, when the sound of the church bells startle him.

Eyes snapping open, it takes him a few seconds to realize through the pounding in his head that he's not in the garden with Emma but in his bed, t-shirt soaked in sweat and his cock at attention from his fevered dream. He must have dozed off last night without realizing it. It had felt so real and he swore he could still taste her on his tongue, but he knew that would never be. Rubbing his hands over his face he pressed his head farther back into the pillow, a heavy sigh escaping him.

"Bloody hell."

His tone was laced with sleep and aggravation and when his cock gave an almost painful throb he threw back the covers almost angrily, getting up to take a very cold shower. His head pounded a little harder as he sat up and he briefly wondered how much rum he had last night. He certainly hadn't felt this bad since his early Naval days when he bar hopped with Robin while on shore leave. He's halfway to the bathroom, knowing he's going to need an extra mile on his run for sure when the events of last night come back to him in a rush - the flirty text messages, the overtly forward way he had been with Emma, the picture - and he feels guilt slam into him like a semi-truck.

_God, what had he done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Killian's dream sequence was written by the AMAZING xpumpkindumplingx! I am a firm believer in helping those getting into the writing game and when she sent me this I was like 'hell yea I'll put it in a TMTC chapter!' She's written a few other things since then so go check her out on tumblr!


	7. Revelations

Emma awoke to a dull pounding in her head and a lurching stomach, feeling very much like she had taken a spin in someone's washer after drinking a ton of water. She wasn't quite sure what day it was or even what year she was in but the sheets around her told her she was at least not passed out in a ditch somewhere. How much had she had to drink the night before? Rolling over and immediately regretting it when her stomach flipped, she groaned as bright sunlight streamed into the room from the right side. Wait, that couldn't be right. Her bedroom window was on the left side of her room… Forcing her eyes open, she had to wait for her blurred vision to clear to realise she was, in fact, not in her own bedroom. She recognised Tink's guest room almost immediately - what with the pictures of fairies and that horrible shade of green on the wall - but why would she be at Tink's…

She closed her eyes and groaned again as the memories slowly came back to her. They had picked Elsa up at the airport and decided to celebrate the final member of their little group's homecoming with a girl's night. She could vaguely remember there being wine - lots and lots of wine - and conversation but it was all hazy, like she was viewing it through a fog. God she was never drinking that much again, ever. She didn't care if one of them got engaged, two glasses was her limit from now on. She was too old to wake up feeling like this, her body astutely reminding her that she was no longer seventeen.

She continued to lay there for a few minutes, praying her stomach and the pounding in her head would ease off enough for her to actually get out of bed as she tried to remember the events from the previous day. They had picked Elsa up, had lunch but then… she had to go to the church before coming here. Something about the schedule and her phone not cooperating and - _oh_. Despite the aching of her body she felt desire shoot through her as she recalled walking in on Killian shirtless and the way he had crowded her against the door. _Well that explained why she had been drinking so much last night._ But there was something else, something that was lurking on the edge of her hazy memories that had happened, something about her phone…

Emma's eyes flew open and she shot up in bed as the memory of her texting Killian came back in blaring color. Before she could even begin to process her thoughts her stomach churned viciously and she scrambled from the bed, barely making it to the bathroom before emptying the contents of her stomach. When she had thrown up what felt like everything she had ate over the past week she stumbled back into the bedroom, eyes instantly landing on her iPhone that lay beside the pillow. Stomach dropping and not from her hangover, she slowly picked up the phone and unlocked it.

Maybe it had been a dream, just like all her other erotic dreams of late starring the good Father….

But there it was, in black and white. The texting app was still open to their conversation and Emma's heart pounded at the realisation that it hadn't been a dream - she had really drunk texted a priest. Not only that, but she could remember the wine pushing her to be forward, to actively flirt with him and - _God, she had sent him a sexy pic, hadn't she?_ Sinking to the bed Emma put her face in her hands, groaning at not only the pounding in her temples but her actions the night before. Everything had been fine before. They never spoke about their little flirtatious exchanges, carefully toeing the line between innocent and outright committing a sin and she had imploded their budding commardire with a few drunk texts.

_Way to go, Emma._

Knowing she needed to get a grasp on exactly what had transpired so she could properly apologise to him, she steeled herself and scrolled to the start of their conversation. She cringed more than once at her obvious attempts to flirt but the longer she read one thing became apparent: Father Jones had flirted back - _heavily_. He never once asked her to stop or try to steer the conversation to more neutral ground, meeting her drunken flirts with his own and had even been the one to steer the conversation to sex first with his quip that she could handle the issue of her soaked underwear. Her shock at having texted him was slowly giving way to intrigue as she read his words while sober. They certainly weren't the words of a priest by any means, more the man behind the white clerical collar she had only glimpsed on occasion with their innocent flirting.

And then she got to his last text.

It was after she had sent the picture, unseen by her until that moment because she had been lulled to sleep by the wine before he had sent it. There, beneath the caption where she had asked him was he sure he could handle it, was his response.

_**Father Jones: I'd love nothing more than to handle it, love… if you're offering. ;p** _

Emma's eyes widened as she read the priest's words over and over again, slowly letting them sink in. Again, he hadn't chastised her for sending a semi-provocative picture to him but had instead responded with his own flirty remark, even going so far as to admit that he wanted to handle her. She was more than a little stunned at the priest's forwardness and yet, she also found herself strangely relieved to read his words. She had felt an undeniable pull toward him from the moment she had met him, one she had been fighting because he was an untouchable man but this… Could her feelings not be one-sided?

Emma scoffed at the thought, wincing when it only made the pounding in her head worse. There was no way Killian could want her like that - he was a priest for crying out loud, sexual desire was the ultimate no-no in their line of work. But then why send that text? Why spend their entire conversation last night openly flirting with her? And it wasn't like it was the first time something like this had happened between them. They had come close to kissing twice now and each time she had written off the desire she had seen in his eyes as her own imagination, believing it was only her hormones pushing her toward him… but maybe it wasn't. Sighing in frustration, Emma exited out of the texting app and locked her phone.

Coffee - she needed coffee and the world's greasiest breakfast before she could even begin to sort through her jumbled thoughts and emotions concerning the good Father.

* * *

Killian sat in his normal booth at Granny's waiting for his sister to arrive for their scheduled Sunday lunch and nursing one of the worst hangovers of his life, as well as berating himself for his actions the previous night. He felt off for having not gone on his morning run but he had known it would be useless with the way his head had been pounding. Instead he had spent an abhorrent amount of time under the spray of a hot shower, so much so that by the time he got out and dressed it was time for morning Mass. He didn't know how he had gotten through it but everyone seemed none the wiser to the fact their priest was hungover. He suppose he had his younger Naval days to thank for that - more than once in his youth he had drunk the night away and still been up at dawn to attend to his duties.

However there was nothing that could rationalise his actions from the night before.

Killian groaned, rubbing at his still throbbing temples. The exchange with Emma was fuzzy, the rum dulling his memory but he recalled enough for it to cause the knot of guilt in his stomach to twist violently. He hadn't told her what they were discussing was wrong or asked her to stop - no, in fact, he had encouraged it from what he could remember and his face burned with embarrassment at the memory of how he had responded to the knowledge that his little stunt yesterday in his office had made her wet. _God above, he had suggested she masturbate!_ What priest said such things to a woman?

_Clearly one who wants to test the limits, little brother._

Closing his eyes against the thought, Killian sighed heavily. And that was the core of the problem. Even if he hadn't been drunk he still would have flirted with her, their exchanges over the past week was evidence of that but the rum had made him bolder, taking him right to the edge of that imaginary line they had been toeing since they met. He had been so careful not to cross it before now, to keep the temptation at arms length and in one night with a bottle of rum he had put his foot over it. He was ashamed and embarrassed by what he had done but there was a part of him, the part that had ignored the warning bells when he had hired her that wasn't, and that only churned the guilt even more. Because he had _liked_ it. He liked the rush of flirting with her on a more intimate level, of hearing just how affected she was by his actions and how she hadn't backed down from any of his challenges. He shouldn't, but he did.

And that brought up an issue that until now he had been sweeping under the rug. How could he be a priest if he liked what happened between them? True, he had never been a devout Catholic growing up - there were a lot of views the church held he had never agreed with and still didn't - but there were many he did believe in, like the core belief in salvation. It was why he had chosen the Catholic religion to atone for his part in Liam's death, to strengthen his faith and devote the rest of his life to spreading the church's message. Yet here he was, flirting with temptation and allowing it to flirt back when he knew it was wrong and it could only lead to the damnation of sin.

Digging his phone out of his pants pocket, he stole a quick glance around to make sure no one was close at hand. He had been too consumed with guilt that morning to look at their conversation, not wanting to see the physical evidence of him failing to be a true priest yet again but that would only lead to him falling further down the rabbit hole. His conversation with Emma was still up on his phone and he tapped the picture she had sent to enlarge it, his jaw clenching in aggravation. Why in the bloody hell had she sent him this? He was a priest, the very last person she should be sending a slightly provocative image to. As if his faith wasn't already on shaky ground, she was damn near trying to cause it to completely crumble beneath him.

Rationally he knew it wasn't her fault - after all, he had flirted back without hesitation and had instigated the entire debacle with the way he had rose to her challenge but Killian had never been a rational thinker when he was emotional. Never in his eight years of being a priest had he questioned his decision to follow this path and suddenly she had walked into his life, turning everything upside down until he didn't know what way he was going anymore.

"Killian?"

Visibly startling at the sound of his name, he looked up to see Belle standing next to the booth, a concerned look on her face.

"Hello, little sister," he greeted, making sure to tilt his phone toward him so she couldn't see what was on his screen.

"Is everything okay?" she inquired as she sat down on the other side of the booth. The fact she hadn't corrected him to 'younger sister' told him just how concerned she was.

"Everything is fine, love." Belle gave him a look he had seen a thousand times on their mother's face growing up that said she didn't believe him. "Why do you ask?"

"Generally you don't look at your phone like you want to throw it against the nearest wall unless something has happened."

He had forgotten over the past few years while trying to keep her safe just how well she could read him. "It's nothing," he commented with a shrug, "An app on it was just being difficult."

Belle raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. Granny appeared to take Belle's order and Killian's eyes fell back to his carefully hidden phone screen. Whatever _this_ was couldn't continue between them, last night proved that. He was a priest, someone who should hold himself up to a higher standard and he had failed at doing that so far. Backing out of the picture and conversation, he clicked the edit button in the text app and selected the conversation, his thumb hovering over the 'delete' button. He had told himself he could handle the temptation but perhaps the temptation with her was too great, one he couldn't possibly overcome and the best thing he could do for both of them was to distance himself from her until he could think straight.

"Are you sure everything's okay?"

Glancing up, he saw Belle looking at him with concern once again and he was reminded why he had to do this, why he couldn't let himself be tempted away from his vows. He didn't want to lose the tentative friendship with Emma that had been forming but he knew they couldn't continue on the path they were on. Hitting the delete button, he locked his phone and set it to the side, giving his sister a sincere smile.

"Absolutely. How have things been at the library?"

* * *

Setting her pencil down Emma leaned back in her chair, sighing as her oscillating desk fan blew somewhat cool air on her. She still wasn't fully recovered from her monster of a hangover but three cups of coffee and Granny's signature hangover remedy of hash browns, bacon, and waffles had her feeling somewhat human again, at least enough to brave her afternoon shift at the church. She hadn't been fully prepared to face Father Jones after what happened the night before, not allowing herself to dwell on the questions his last text message had raised as she ate breakfast with the girls. She wanted to see him first, to gauge his reaction to what had happened before confronting her own swirling emotions - the only problem was Killian hadn't been there when she arrived.

It wasn't odd. She knew he had a standing lunch appointment every Sunday after Mass with his sister and in a way she had been grateful for the opportunity to settle into work before they talked - because there was no question that they needed to talk about what had been said the night before. She had been at the church a little over an hour when she heard him in the chapel talking to someone and her stomach had immediately knotted with nerves. Fidgeting with everything on her desk five times in a row she had waited for him to walk into the office… but he never appeared. Figuring he had a lot of early confessions or was possibly dealing with getting the air condition unit installed, she had went back to work - or, attempted to. Her eyes had flickered to the closed door often and the poor parents of an out-of-town bride had to repeat themselves multiple times as her ears seemed to be trained for any little sound coming from the rest of the church.

She could have sought him out but Emma's instinct to stay guarded and have the other person slightly off kilter when they interacted, a throwback to her years as a bail bonds person, kept her firmly in her desk chair. At one point she had been on a call with a local band mom arguing about a date that was no longer available, paying attention for perhaps the first time that afternoon when the office door swung open unexpectedly. Her heart had practically beat out of her chest and she almost dropped the phone in her haste to seem casual but just as quickly as the nerves resettled in her stomach, they left when Ashley had walked in instead of Killian. The choir member had smiled and waved at her, paying no attention to the hawk-like way Emma watched her go to Killian's desk, pick up his laptop, and leave.

She knew he always started on the next sermon on Sunday afternoons and preferred to type the first draft rather than write it, so the disappearance of said writing mechanism suggested he was working on the next sermon, just not in the usual spot at his desk. The fact that he had sent someone to retrieve it rather than getting it himself was a glaring neon sign that the good Father was _actively_ avoiding her at that point. She ignored the flash of hurt that shot through her at the revelation, reminding herself that she had no reason to feel like an ignored girlfriend. He was probably embarrassed by what had happened between them and just needed some time before seeing her, something that Emma could relate to. So, she would give him time.

She had tried to throw herself into work but two hours later after rereading the same eight emails and erasing an event only to add it to the same day multiple times, she had given up on the pretext of working. Clearly her mind was refusing to concentrate until her and Killian worked out whatever the hell was going on between them and he obviously wasn't going to make the first move to discuss their conversation. Glancing at her computer clock and realising it was dinner time, she figured there was no better way to clear the air than over a cooked meal.

That was what her mother always said, at least.

Heading to the kitchen, she mulled over the situation. Clearly what had transpired between them had been a mistake. She had been drunk and he… well, she wasn't sure why he had been overtly flirtatious with her but avoiding her all day was a clear sign that he hadn't meant for it to happen and that he regretted it. And that was fine. It wasn't like anything could come of their flirting anyway, she was his employee and he was a priest - you couldn't get more taboo than that. She pushed the niggling voice at the back of her mind that whispered he never would have sent that last text if there wasn't a base of truth to it away as she opened the kitchen door, needing to figure out exactly where he was mentally before pursuing that dangerous line of thought.

He was sat in his usual spot at the kitchen island, dressed in his blue basketball shorts and a white A-shirt indicating that at some point after confessions he had spent time in his garden. He was hunched over eating a burger and despite the severity of the conversation they were about to have, she couldn't help but admire his profile view - the way his dark hair fell over his forehead, the strong set of his jaw and those adorable Elf-like ears. It was because she was looking at him that she saw him tense, shoulders becoming rigid and his eyes staying firmly on the plate in front of him. That above anything else about the scene in front of her sent a prickle of unease through her. From the moment she had met him two weeks ago he had always looked at her when she entered a room, those sea blue eyes unerringly finding her even when there were multiple people in the room. The air in the kitchen thickened the longer she stood there and she could practically feel waves of agitation rolling off him. Pushing her unease to the side she made her way toward him, intent on joining him for perhaps the most awkward dinner of her entire life but stopped as she reached the island. There wasn't a second plate for her where she would normally sit which sent another alarm bell ringing in her head. He always had dinner ready for them at this time, the food already on the plate waiting for her sometimes. A quick glance at the stove and sink told her he hadn't cooked tonight, not a dirty pan in sight and her eyes darted to the trashcan next to the cabinets to see the unmistakable logo of Granny's Diner on the bag lying on top of it.

Oh, so he had went out to get them dinner instead.

Moving so she was directly across from him, she tried to lighten the tense atmosphere around them. "Did the fertilizer you use in your garden make your forget I was working today?"

"No."

His short and clipped response gave her pause, and the fact he still hadn't looked at her didn't escape her.

"Is mine in the fridge? You remembered to get onion rings instead of-"

"I didn't pick anything up for you," he interrupted before taking another bite of his burger.

"Oh."

Oh, indeed. Every night since her first shift at the church he had made or brought dinner for her. She had told him in the beginning he didn't have to but he had insisted upon it, telling her it was nice to share a meal with someone other than his sister and Robin on a weekly bases. And yet here they were, him having dinner and seemingly not caring about her own. She knew he was embarrassed by how far over the line they had went last night but this didn't seem like the man she had come to know over the past few weeks. She had never known him to be short and standoffish with anyone, certainly not her. Watching his throat move as he drank from his glass and his eyes still avoiding her, she decided to barrel on through to the obvious elephant in the room.

"Look, I know last night was-"

The sound of his empty glass hitting the kitchen island hard enough to break it startled her. Her eyes, which had been on her hands lying on the countertop as she spoke, jerked up at the sound to find Killian finally looking at her, the hardness of his blue eyes causing her breath to hitch.

"I'd prefer if we didn't discuss that," he stated, almost growling and causing Emma to unconsciously take a step back at his dark tone. _What was wrong with him?_

"I think we have to," she responded almost defiantly, apprehension settling low in her gut as his gaze hardened before flickering down to his food. He stood quickly then, throwing the rest of his uneaten burger and fries along with the paper plate into the trash.

Moving to the sink with his glass he muttered, "We don't, Miss Nolan."

The sound of her last name felt like a slap to the face and she stared at his back as he began to wash out his glass. He hadn't called her that since they had agreed to use each other's names in this very room a week ago, and he had never said it with such venom. It was almost as if… Emma blinked in surprise, her eyes widening as realisation dawned.

"Are you _angry_ at me?"

Sitting the glass down hard in the sink Killian turned, yanking a dish towel from the oven's door handle to dry his hands. "Yes, I am," he admitted, blue eyes as hard as sapphires as they looked at her.

Emma's jaw dropped. "You have got to be joking."

"On the contrary, I'm not," he responded, tossing the dish towel carelessly onto the countertop. Crossing his arms he continued, "Your actions were appalling, to say the least. What in the bloody hell were you thinking?"

Anger flashed sharply within her but Emma pushed it away, remembering her father's age old advice that two people losing their tempers never solved anything. "I was drunk-"

"That's no excuse, Miss Nolan," Killian cut her off sharply, uncrossing his arms and moving forward to plant them firmly on the kitchen island. "I'm a priest. Sending me suggestive texts and pictures like that is inappropriate, something I'm sure you're aware of."

Screw her father's advice she thought, advancing toward the other side of the kitchen island. "If memory serves _you_ responded to those texts and never once told me stop, _Father_ Jones," she shot back, a little angrier than she had intended to. There was a split second where she saw him wince at her use of his official title but it was gone in the blink of an eye.

"Aye, I didn't, and I'll pay my penance for my actions but that doesn't change things. You should know better."

Emma scoffed, her temper well above rising. "It's just harmless flirting."

"Is it?" He quickly challenged, letting the question hang heavily in the air between them before continuing. "That's how sin always starts, Miss Nolan. It's harmless, like the snake simply sunbathing in the Garden of Eden and then one day it changes, the harmless nature of it morphing into a temptation no man can resist. Priests don't flirt, we don't engage in the temptation because we have to hold ourselves _above_ it."

Emma raised a blonde eyebrow. "You've clearly been failing at that, Father."

She watched with a slight thrill of victory as his jaw muscle ticked before he turned back toward the sink. "Be that as it may, things can not continue the way they have been. No more personal dinners and I will ask that you conduct yourself around me in a manner that is appropriate for both of our positions."

Emma's hands fisted at her sides until she was sure there would be crescent shaped marks in her palms. If that's the way he wanted it… "Fine," she bit out, moving to leave. Wrenching the door open so hard she heard the hinges protest she paused, turning to look at the priest over her shoulder. He was still stood at the sink, hands gripping the ledge tightly as he stared down, jaw muscle ticking every few seconds.

"Oh, and Father?"

She purposefully waited until he turned his head to acknowledge her before giving him her most sarcastic smile.

"You should really look in the mirror before you start throwing words like 'inappropriate behavior' around. Last time I checked, it was _inappropriate_ for a priest to trap a woman against a door and whisper seductively in her ear while half dressed - or did I miss that day of Sunday school?"

Not waiting for a response, Emma turned and slammed the kitchen door behind her.

* * *

As the kitchen door slammed shut Killian felt his stomach drop.

 _What had he just done?_ That was _not_ how he wanted their conversation to go. He had wanted to talk to her civilly, to explain why he had to distance himself in a way that would preserve the tentative friendship they had struck. But then she had walked in and he had caught sight of her curves in that simple t-shirt and jeans, the familiar scent of flowers hitting him and his body had instantly reacted, cock stirring as the picture she had sent him the night before flashed through his mind. He had gotten angry that he couldn't even control himself with her simply walking in the room and as she moved towards him all he could think about was how he had failed at everything - how he hadn't been able to stop the disease that ravaged his mother, how he had been unable to protect Belle until it was too late, and how Liam had died because of his failure to properly assess their surroundings. And there he was, failing at being a priest - again.

So he had turned that anger around on her.

His stomach knotted as he remembered his harsh words to her and he felt like punching himself in the face for being such an ass. Seeing her so vehemently defend herself and the anger color her cheeks had made his body react even more, fueling his misguided rage. So he had lashed out with words, throwing how he felt about himself at her until she had no choice but to leave.

This wasn't how he wanted it to happen. He had wanted to gently push her away and in the span of a few minutes he had not only shoved her back over the line, but permanently closed the door to any friendship they may have had. And that churned the guilt within him more than their text conversation ever had. In the process of not wanting to feel like a failure as a priest, he had spectacularly failed at being a human being and friend. Growling in frustration, he kicked at the cabinet doors beneath the sink, ignoring the pain in his right foot and the dent in the door.

_He had royally screwed up this time._

* * *

Emma sat on her back porch, a cup of hot cocoa cradled in her hands as she looked out over the freshly cut yard.

Although the backyard was only the size of about half a football field, the entire property consisted of about three acres of land, most of it the forest that surrounded the old plantation style house. The house and property had been in her mother's family for generations, passed from one Blanchard to another with each new generation adding something to it. Her Grandma Eva had been the one to build the sunroom before her death and Grandpa Leo had the kitchen completely modernised when her mother was a teenager. Her own parents had continued the tradition, adding the pool area as well as her father's garage which her and mother affectionately nicknamed the Bermuda Triangle due to the fact that whatever went in there was very rarely ever seen again. But Emma's favorite part of the house was right here - the wraparound back porch. It was where she had come as a child to play, even on the hottest of summer days, and to think as a teenager. There had always been something calming about the view of the gentle sloping yard and the trees that marked its end. A few oak trees dotted the yard in an almost zig zag pattern, planted generations ago by the first Nolans to live in the house and the furthest tree in the yard held the tree house her father had built for her and the girls the summer they turned eight.

She sat in the porch swing her parent's had refurbished twenty years ago, her left leg curled under her and her right one dangling over the side, occasionally pushing the swing to softly sway. Many a night as a teenager she had come to this very spot to read a book or giggle with the girls as they talked about boys. It was still obscenely warm despite the setting sun and she was glad she had opted for a pair of pajama shorts and a short sleeved shirt that hung off one shoulder when she awoken from her nap earlier. She hadn't been outside long before she had to braid her hair to keep it off her neck but she refused to go into the air conditioned house - not with Killian there.

It had been three days since her argument with him and the anger at his words still simmered beneath the surface. She had left the church that night, not bothering to finish the last few hours of her shift and went straight home to down a glass of wine and stew in her bedroom. She had expected him to be embarrassed, maybe a little shy at seeing her after their text conversation but never angry. The man had actually had the nerve to _scold_ her as if she were the only one who had done something wrong! His text messages had been just as suggestive as her own - she had reread them countless times over the last few days to ensure she hadn't dreamed the entire situation - hell, his last text message hadn't even been suggestive, openly _telling_ her he wanted her if she was offering. And yet he had stood there, insinuating she should have known better when the fault lay squarely at his feet just as much as it did her own.

She accepted her part in the situation. She knew she shouldn't have texted him like that or sent the picture but the truth was, she was glad she did. In the days after their fight she had spent a lot of time looking inward at her actions, questioning why she had done it and it had forced her to finally admit the truth to herself. What had that French Enlightenment philosopher Jean-Jaques Rousseau that Elsa was always quoting say? _"A drunk mind speaks a sober heart."_ Yes, it had been because he challenged her and Emma Nolan never turned away from one but at their core, her actions had been because she desired him. As forbidden as he was with the white collar at his throat she wanted him, she couldn't deny that anymore. She wanted to peel the clothes from his body that she now knew lay beneath them, toss the collar of his office away and let him bend her over his desk and fuck her. She wasn't proud of it. She had never went in knowing she was going to desire a priest but here she was, thinking the ultimate sinful thoughts about a man of God.

Not that finally admitting that stopped her from being pissed at him for being a complete ass.

She had went into her Monday morning shift at the church still furious with him but with the resolve to not let what had happened between them get in the way of her doing her job. He had been in the office when she arrived, typing away on his computer and she had went straight to her desk after a curt greeting with his official title, pretending he wasn't there as she started to work. She hadn't felt the same tension from him as she had the previous night and if anything he seemed ashamed, glancing at her when he thought she couldn't see with remorseful blue eyes. But it still didn't change how angry she was at him. Their conversations were civil and she kept them to the bare minimum, only talking to him when it was necessary to convey something about the schedule. There was an obvious tension between them, one that for the first time since their meeting was anything but sexual.

Her Tuesday shift at the church had been the same with the difference that he had appeared after confessions, his fingers scratching behind his right ear adorably as he quietly asked her if she wanted to have dinner with him. She had politely declined, citing the inappropriateness of doing so as she walked past him to meet Elsa at Granny's. It was after all what he had wanted - no personal dinners and for them to only act professionally around each other.

Because she had limited their conversation to only work related matters she still had no idea why he hadn't stopped their texting that night. Before their argument she would have told herself he didn't because he possibly desired her, especially after his last text message. Their flirting alone was proof enough of that. From the moment she had run into him at Granny's there had been an underlying sexual tension, one she had fought against vehemently and that had only grown the longer they spent together. But clearly it had all been coming from her. She had mistaken the desire she had seen in his eyes and the instances they almost kissed - he had just been too close as they stood by the fireplace in her living room and in his office, that the little moments she thought had hinted at something more beneath the robes of his office were nothing.

All she knew was that his anger over it was a clear indication that he didn't feel the same way she did….

"Emma?"

Emma turned her head to see her mother walking toward her with a glass of tea in her hand, the school teacher wearing her favorite white apron that had _Storybrooke's Best Cook_ embroidered on it, a gift Emma's father had given her years ago.

"Everything okay, mom?"

Mary Margaret nodded as she sat next to Emma on the porch swing, taking a sip of her tea. "Just wondering why you are out here instead of inside with your dad and Father Jones."

Emma tensed slightly at the mention of Killian but her mother seemed to not notice. She had been in the sunroom reading before her overnight shift at the station when she heard Killian arrive, apparently at the behest of her father to discuss a program the sheriff and priest wanted to jointly implement for the younger hellions of Storybrooke to get them on the straight and narrow. She had waited until they were seated in the living room and talking to quietly sneak out the back door. The last thing she wanted to do was play nice with the good Father while still mad at him - but that wasn't exactly something she could tell her mother.

"Wanted some fresh air before being stuck in the station most of the night," she answered, taking a long sip of her hot cocoa.

"I don't blame you," her mother commented. "The heat is still oppressing but the view is breathtaking."

Emma nodded in agreement, her eyes sweeping over the large yard in front of them. The sun was setting behind the trees, painting the sky in hues of red and gold and reminding Emma of a painting she had once seen in a museum when she was in New York, the colors blending so seamlessly together it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. It was the kind of view she had missed while living in the city, her own apartment window opening to reveal the building next to hers.

"You don't get that view in the city, that's for sure," she murmured. Her mother didn't respond and Emma took another sip of her drink, eyeing the older woman next to her out of the corner of her eye. They had never done small talk, the two women too different to converse at length about any subject and if she knew her mother at all, there was another reason the school teacher had sought her out despite her obvious disappearance from the house….

"Have you given any thought to dating?"

… And there it was.

Emma winced at her mother's horrible attempt to bring up her failed love life, wishing at that moment for any kind of divine intervention to keep her from having this conversation. Bending to place her almost empty mug on the porch she said, "Mom, I just broke up with Walsh two weeks ago."

She heard her mother scoff quietly. "Emma, you checked out of that relationship years ago. Besides, it wasn't like you were in love with the monkey."

Emma smirked at her mother's nickname for Walsh as she leaned back on the porch swing, gently rocking it with the toes of her dangling foot. "Perhaps, but I'd rather not jump right into another relationship, not while I'm still trying to get my feet under me financially."

"Oh, hogwash," her mother admonished, "You can date while living here. If anything it'll save your father gas from having to drive to your place to intimidate someone. There's nothing stopping you from finding love but you, Emma."

Emma bit the inside of cheek at her mother's words. This was the fundamental difference between her and her mother, the thing that kept them from truly understanding each other. Her mother and father had met in high school, the raven haired woman stealing her father's lucky necklace with the sword charm on a dare while he was at football practice one day. Her father, ever the resourceful man, had sussed out who had done it and in an attempt to get it back, had climbed the trellis that lead up to her mother's bedroom - now Emma's - and snuck in through the window. What he hadn't counted on was her mother thinking there was an intruder and knocking him in the face with her ornate jewelry box, leaving behind a scar that the sheriff still had almost thirty years later. It had been love at first sight though - once the bleeding and her father's cursing had stopped - and they had been a couple ever since, the epitome of Southern sweethearts who met young and stayed together.

Emma's love life on the other hand had been the polar opposite. She had thought she had found what her parent's had once with Neal, their story so similar to the fabled David and Mary Margaret Nolan true love one. At fifteen Tink had a major crush on Arthur Pendragon, the school's star quarterback, and Ruby had dared Emma to steal Arthur's car as a way to get their shy friend an in with the handsome teenager who had been nicknamed the King of Storybrooke for his performance on the field. To this day she didn't know why Ruby had dared her or even why she had accepted it - but she had, using the lock picking skills her father had taught her as a means of escape to aide her getting into the sleek white Camaro.

Except she hadn't been the only one with plans to steal Arthur's car that day.

Once inside, she had been scared half to death by someone rising from the backseat - it was Neal Cassidy, the class loner, who had apparently been dared to steal the same car by his best friend, August Booth, as a prank. There had been a slight squabble of who technically had stolen it first but in the end it didn't matter. Arthur had come strolling out and found both of them in his car and the only reason he hadn't called her father was because Emma had batted her eyelashes and dropped Tink's name - Tink and Arthur had hit it off and Emma and Neal had started dating shortly afterward. But that was where any similarities between their story and her parent's love story ended because two short years later she had been left alone, confused and betrayed as she stood in Gold's shop awaiting her father's arrival with the pawn shop owner looking at her in pity.

There was no happily ever after like her parent's had and she knew it baffled her mother as to why her daughter had yet to settle down and find love. She never understood Emma's need for one night stands, to keep her heart guarded from the possibility of love because Mary Margaret Nolan had never known heartbreak. Emma's father was the only man she had ever been with. She didn't want love and was pretty sure she wasn't capable of it after Neal's betrayal. She supposed it was a good sign that even her mother had been able to see she wasn't in love with Walsh but apparently moving back home came with more than the attending Mass stipulation.

Emma sighed. "Mom, do we really have to talk about this… again?"

"We've never properly discussed your dating preferences, Emma."

She turned to raise a disbelieving eyebrow at her mother. "You've made it well known you never approved of my one night stands and casual sex."

She watched her mother blush at the mention of casual sex, ever the devout Catholic who didn't believe in sex before marriage.

"You know how I feel about that, Emma. But that's not what I'm talking about. I mean relationships and love. I worry that you haven't found that, sweetie."

Wishing she was having this conversation drunk rather than sober, Emma looked back out over the yard. "Maybe it's not something I want," she said truthfully, "Or something I think is in the cards for me."

She felt her mother's hand on her leg, halting her movement of pushing the porch swing. "Love is something everyone aspires to have, Emma. It's at the core of who we are as humans and you can find it if you only open yourself up to the possibility of it."

And there was the eternal optimist whose own love story made her believe everyone should have that same kind of love. Emma sighed internally. Nothing was going to stop her mother from prodding at her love life so perhaps it was best to throw the former archery champion a bone and hopefully change the subject for now.

"I'm not saying never, but I don't even know anyone who-"

"I know someone."

Emma slowly turned, her eyes narrowing at the sparkle she saw in her mother's emerald eyes. "Oh really?"

The school teacher nodded, trying and failing to suppress a grin. "I do and it's someone you know."

 _Oh this isn't going to end well._ Emma groaned, closing her eyes as she rubbed at her temple. "Mom, there can't possibly be anyone I know who is available other than Jefferson and August and there is _no way_ -"

"Don't be silly, Emma. While both striking men, August is a known scoundrel among the women of Storybrooke and Jefferson hasn't mentally been there since his wife died. I'm talking about Graham!"

Emma's eyes snapped open, her jaw dropping as she stared at her mother incredulously. " _Graham?!_ "

Mary Margaret nodded, clearly enthusiastic at her suggestion. "Yes!"

"Graham," she repeated, "As in Graham Humbert, the Irishman who works at the station and lives in the cabin in the middle of the woods?"

Her mother rolled her eyes. "You know exactly what Graham I'm talking about."

Emma continued to stare at her mother, wondering briefly if the raven haired woman had hit her head. "Mom, I can't date him!"

"Why not?"

 _Because I kind of want to fuck the priest, not the sheriff's deputy._ "For a variety of reasons!" she exclaimed instead. "To begin with he's older than me, he works for my father, is my co-worker and isn't interested!"

"First of all," her mother began, immediately falling into teacher lecture mode, "He's not _that_ much older than you, only seven years so. I've talked to your father-"

"You talked to dad about this?!"

"-And he's fine with it," Mary Margaret continued, unfazed by her daughter's interruption. "There will of course be the obligatory threatening talk but he likes Graham. Furthermore, he is interested."

Emma gaped at her mother, stunned speechless. Of all the people she could have thought her mother would suggest she date Graham had not been on the list. She had known the man since she was thirteen when she was all scrawny hair and braces, and she now considered him a friend. She couldn't possibly…

Emma blinked as her mother's words registered. "He's interested?"

Mary Margaret smiled brightly. "He is."

"How- How do you know that?"

"Because he told me," her mother answered simply. "He mentioned it last Tuesday when he stopped by to help your father in the Bermuda Triangle. He said that you had grown into a very beautiful woman and if you wanted, he would love to take you out sometime."

"Well, that's-" Emma shook her head against her turbulent thoughts. She knew they had grown closer since she started working with him but this was kind of out of the blue…. Or was it? She thought back to her first day at the station when she had asked him if he was seeing anyone and the look that had come into his eyes as he stared at her. He had said no but had started to say something else when they had been interrupted by the call from Granny, but it couldn't be… The more she thought about it the more she saw the signs - the way she would catch him looking at her while she was filing paperwork, the touches she hadn't thought twice about but were now glaring in light of this new information… Well, shit. Graham Humbert was interested in her.

A delighted giggle brought her out of her thoughts and she looked up to see her mother absolutely beaming.

"What?" she asked, wearily.

Mary Margaret shrugged. "You haven't shot the idea down is all."

Well of course she hadn't, she had been too shocked to do so. "While appealing, there are a number of reasons why I can't-"

"Emma," her mother interrupted, leaning forward to grasp one of her hands. "The only reasons you can't are the ones you put in your way."

"That's not true, there's dad."

"Who I already told you I talked to. Your father is never going to think anyone is good enough for his little girl but Graham… he knows Graham, knows the kind of man he is and trusts him. Of all the people in Storybrooke, he's probably the only one your father would be truly okay with you seeing."

"There's still the fact that we work together."

"Your father said that can easily be fixed by one of your switching to work with Leroy," her mother replied. Giving her a soft smile she added, "Again, there's nothing stopping you but yourself. You can't tell me that he's not an attractive man."

Emma conceded that point to her mother. Graham was attractive in that ruggedly handsome, outdoorsman way and God knew her teenage crush on him had been huge. If her mother had suggested this back then, the obvious illegal aspect of their age difference aside, she would have jumped at the chance but now… Now when she thought of an attractive man her mind immediately pictured Killian, all blue eyes and dark hair, handsome in that dangerous way that spoke of passionate nights and intrigue. Graham was appealing but Killian was what she desired, even if she couldn't have him.

She sighed deeply. "Mom-"

"Before you say no, just think about it," her mother implored. "He's a good man, Emma, one that will treat you right if you only let him."

Emma bit her lip in thought. Maybe her mother was right, maybe she should give Graham a chance. It wasn't like Killian was available and besides, he had made it clear that was something he didn't want. She did deserve a man who wanted her and who knew, maybe sleeping with Graham once they reached that point would get her mind off Father Jones. Looking back at her mother she nodded.

"I'll think about it."

Mary Margaret grinned widely. "That's wonderful, Emma!"

"That's not a yes but I… I'll give it serious thought, mom."

"No, of course! I'm just happy you're even considering- oh!" Her mother stood suddenly, almost sending the porch swing into the side of the house in her haste. "I've got to check on the casserole!"

Emma chuckled as her mother turned to leave. God forbid if Mary Margaret Nolan burned dinner. Well, she had definitely given Emma something to think about other than the priest she couldn't have...

"Oh, hello Father Jones."

Emma's head snapped up at her mother's greeting, her eyes instantly landing on the man in question. He was stood by the back door, hands in the pockets of his black dress pants as he leaned against the door frame. He was in one of his purple dress shirts with the white collar of his office firmly in place, dark hair swept to the side and a few strands falling onto his forehead. She felt the anger that had been simmering for days flood back at the sight of him but she also couldn't ignore the tug of desire low in her belly - she may be pissed at him but damn he was good looking.

"Hello, Mrs. Nolan," he greeted cordially, smiling at her mother. "Your husband had to answer a call from the station so I stepped outside for some fresh air. I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all!" her mother replied cheerily. "I'm just going in to check on dinner. Are you staying to eat?"

Killian nodded, his blue eyes flickering to Emma. "I am, yes. I'll go back inside with you…"

"Nonsense! Stay out here and keep Emma company until David is off the phone. Leroy can get a bit long winded when he thinks there is a crisis."

As soon as her mother disappeared into the house Emma turned her attention back to the sweeping view of the backyard, not in any mood to hold a civil conversation with the priest. She heard his dress shoes lightly thump on the old wood as he walked towards her but she kept her eyes firmly ahead, focusing on the old tree house. She could still see him at the edge of her vision though, a dark shape that leaned against one of the support beams for the porch railing as silence stretched between them. It was just after seven and she could hear the crickets already starting to sing, the occasional lightning bug flickering to life across the yard.

It was a peaceful moment, or would have been if not for the clear tension that sparked between them. She didn't have to look at him to know he was looking at her. She could feel that blue gaze on her and she cursed inwardly at the heat that bloomed between her thighs at it, hating how even a simple look from him could spark her desire so strongly. It was like the universe was taunting her, placing a man in front of her that she wanted but wasn't able to touch, like a priceless artifact sat on display. She thought he was just going to stand there and accept the silence that stretched between them but then he spoke, his accent thick and voice slightly tight.

"So, you're going to date Graham."

She turned her head to look at him then, the hand that rested on the leg tucked beneath her fisting at his words. He was indeed looking right at her, arms crossed as he leaned against the railing with his mouth in a thin line and face hard. Honestly, what was with this guy? First he berated her for the same actions he had done, telling her there had to be a line of professionalism with them and now all of a sudden he was interested in her love life?

"I don't think that's any of your business, Father Jones," she said quietly through gritted teeth, not wanting her parents to hear their obviously strained conversation. She didn't miss his flinch at the sound of his title again or the way his blue eyes flashed brightly.

"No, it's none of my business, Miss Nolan. Just making conversation."

"Well don't," she muttered, looking away from him again. Really, the universe was just piling it on today.

"You didn't seem too keen on the idea when your mother suggested it."

 _Sweet Mary and Joseph the man would just not take a hint, would he?_ Without looking at him she replied, "I have my reservations about it but my mother made some good points. Graham is a good man, knows what he wants, and is attractive."

She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye and if she wasn't mistaken, his one visible hand tightened on his arm.

"All true. From what I know of him the deputy is a nice man, well respected within the community. He'd be a good match if the wooded huntsman is your thing."

"Perhaps it is," she shot back without thinking. She was really in no mood to converse with him when he had yet to apologise for his actions Sunday night, not that he would.

"And that's what you want? A relationship with a man who spends his free time trolloping through the forest with a bow and arrow looking to kill Bambi?"

"At least he's not hypocritical," she muttered angrily, standing from the porch swing and walking to the corner of the porch. She could just make out the rose bushes that her mother had planted years ago to give the pool area privacy, their red blooms bright against the green background they grew in. She didn't know why Killian was so hell bent on putting Graham down. Yes, it was true, she hadn't and wasn't keen on the idea of dating Graham but there was something about his remarks that made her want to defend her friend, no matter what action she decided to take about a relationship with him.

"Well, best of luck to you in that, Miss Nolan," he replied as the silence continued to stretch between them, "I'm sure it'll be a whirlwind relationship that everyone will regal as the greatest love story ever to grace Storybrooke."

She turned then to see him push off the railing, face dark. "Who said anything about love?"

He paused in his movement to leave, head snapping around toward her. "I beg your pardon?"

She had no idea what had made her say it but she barrelled on, an innocent smile on her face.

"I've never been good at the whole relationship thing, you see. More of a… casual sex kind of girl." She saw him tense but she continued, "I mean, if a relationship happens great. God knows my mother will be happy but for me? Perfectly fine with simply letting him fuck me to relieve the itch." She gasped in mock horror, "Sorry, was that inappropriate?"

He didn't flinch at her crass language or even tell her not to use it, simply stood there with his mouth hanging open slightly. He recovered quickly though, the shock morphing into an emotion she couldn't quite put her finger on as he stared at her, blue eyes widening like he had just realised something….

"Father Jones?"

Her mother's voice broke their eye contact and Emma looked to see her mother coming out the back door, apron still on and her phone now in her hand.

"David just hung up with Leroy if you wanted to finish your conversation before dinner."

Emma watched Killian nod and smile, expertly hiding whatever he had just been feeling from her mother as he made his way into the house. But Emma had been a bail bonds person for years, had taught herself how to read even the smallest facial change in a person and she saw it still lingering there in the tight corners of his mouth and hard set of his jaw. Before she could even begin to contemplate what it was her mother was sitting down on the porch swing again, eyes firmly fixed on her phone. Emma joined her, needing to calm the adrenaline that had started to course through her as she talked to the priest. She was still angry at him - both for his words to her and about Graham - but that last look on his face wouldn't leave her alone. She had seen it before on him but she couldn't place it….

"Men."

Emma whipped her head toward her mother so fast her braided hair moved from hanging over her right shoulder to her left.

"What?"

"Hm?"

"What made you say that?"

Mary Margaret looked up from her phone, confusion pulling at her brow before she realised what her daughter was talking about. "Oh, just angry at your father."

Emma's eyebrows shot up - her mother _never_ got angry with her father. "What happened?"

Mary Margaret sighed. "Just your father being a big butt head is all." When Emma continued to stare at her she continued, "Your father and I were texting this morning about your Uncle James and both said the same thing. Couple hours later I come home and your father is angry about what I said."

Emma frowned. "Why would dad be angry if it's something you both said?"

Her mother rolled her eyes. "Because he's a man. He's irritated and feeling guilty that he let himself say it - you know how your father feels about your uncle - and is really angry at himself but he's projecting it onto me and being short and snappy. In conclusion, he's being a butt head but he'll come to his senses by tomorrow."

A light bulb went off in Emma's head and she was glad her mother had looked down at her phone again and didn't see her eyes widen comically. That was it. That was the reason why Killian had been so irrationally angry at her Sunday night - he was irritated and feeling guilty at himself but had directed it at her instead. It made sense. She had told herself that his flirting and last text message had been because he got caught up in the moment and it didn't mean anything, that all the things she thought she had seen were her own projections and his anger proved that but now…

Her heart hammered against her chest as her mind raced. But it didn't prove that. If anything it proved the thoughts she had Sunday morning when she first read the text were on the right path. Why continue an obviously inappropriate conversation and _admit_ he wanted her if it wasn't what he wanted? He could have stopped their conversation from the beginning if what he said in the kitchen Sunday night was true - but it wasn't, because he hadn't stopped it. He had even encouraged it at times. But that would mean… That he wanted her. Every encounter with him since they met flew through her mind - every flirty remark, the way she caught him looking at her with that _more_ in his eyes, the almost kisses - he wanted her. She had been so wrapped up in denying her own desires for the priest that she had written the obvious signs from him off as her own hormones.

Father Jones desired her and he was angry at himself for it, not her.

His face when she had talked about letting Graham fuck her appeared again and she grinned at the realisation of what it had been - jealousy, pure and simple jealousy. _That_ was why he had been so negative about Graham and questioned her so hard on the subject of dating him. Because deep down, he didn't want her to because _he_ wanted her.

Emma bit her lip in thought. A few weeks ago she had thought the mere sexual thought of the good Father was a sin and that he was unattainable but it was clear now that he wanted her just as much she wanted him. So why not give in to that desire? She waited for the guilt to kick in, to feel morally repulsed by the idea of pursuing and hopefully having sex with a priest but it never came. She had been drawn to him from the very beginning and if he wanted her why not scratch the itch together? Yes it was wrong on so many levels but if the Father was willing, why shouldn't they give in to it?

"Who else do you want to invite to the BBQ on Saturday besides the girls?"

Her mother's question brought her out of her thoughts and an idea immediately began to form. Although she had made the decision to pursue him she wasn't going to let him off the hook for his actions Sunday night so easily, and she knew just the way to let him know about her new found intentions _and_ to get him back for projecting his anger onto her. Smiling innocently she turned to her mother.

"How about Father Jones?"

Mary Margaret returned her smile, unaware of her daughter's ulterior motives. "Oh yes, we must invite him! I can't believe I didn't think to before. I'll go inside and tell him now."

As her mother went back into the house, Emma reached for her phone that had been setting beside her and quickly pulled up her group chat with the girls, grinning as she typed.

_**Emma: Anyone up for some swim suit shopping?** _


	8. The Color of Sin

 

Pushing the couple of strands of hair that were always falling onto his forehead away, Killian adjusted his sunglasses and turned onto Fairytale Lane with Poison's _Every Rose Has It's Thorn_ playing through his headphones, his left hand subconsciously tapping along to the beat against his thigh as he walked.

Not that the smooth harmony of Bret Michaels and an 80's guitar beat could calm his swirling thoughts.

He had spent the days after his and Emma's argument Sunday night kicking himself for the way he had talked to her, knowing from the second the kitchen door had closed that he had royally fucked up. He didn't need the voice of his dead brother to tell him he had exercised the highest of bad form in that moment. He had spent the night of their argument tossing and turning, what little sleep he had gotten plagued by dreams of the blonde siren walking away from him over and over again. He was a man who owned up to his mistakes though and had had every intention of apologising to her the next morning - except, he hadn't taken into consideration just how angry she would be at him. She hadn't talked to him aside from work related matters for two days, sitting in stoney silence the rest of the time and had even reverted back to addressing him by his official title rather than his name.

It was, after all, what he had told her he wanted, what he thought needed to happen in order to to purge himself of temptation. But her shutting him out had only made him realise how much he had come to enjoy their budding friendship and how he wanted nothing more than for her to simply smile at him like she use to. He had missed their conversations as well, the ease with which they had talked for hours and the playful banter that had become second nature - all lost to him because he had been angry at himself and directed it toward her. She had even turned down his offer for dinner on Tuesday, her words of it being inappropriate causing regret to rise within him so strongly he thought he might choke on it. Every use of his official title had felt like a punch to the gut and he had never wanted to hear his name fall from another person's lips so badly.

It was for the best he had told himself as he sat at his desk Tuesday night. While he wished they would have been able to remain friends the important thing was the temptation was no longer there, the wall she had thrown between them effectively cutting off his chance to fall down the sinful path once and for all. It was the way things were suppose to be, the way they had to be in order for him to honor Liam's memory….

And then the incident on Wednesday had occurred.

He truly hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Emma and Mrs. Nolan's conversation. He had simply wanted to get some air while the Sheriff took his work call but before he could do the polite thing and announce his presence, the subject of their conversation had registered with him.

" _He's interested?"_

" _He is."_

" _How- How do you know that?"_

" _Because he told me. He mentioned it last Tuesday when he stopped by to help your father in the Bermuda Triangle. He said that you had grown into a very beautiful woman and if you wanted, he would love to take you out sometime."_

Anger and another emotion he couldn't name flashed sharply within him as he listened to their conversation. He knew he had no right to be angry that Emma's mother was trying to set her up with someone - after all, it wasn't like he was a viable candidate for any sort of courting or had even thought about it. He was a priest, the epitome of unavailability but he had still found himself clenching his jaw as the school teacher gushed over the possible romance. He wasn't shocked that Emma had garnered the attention of another man either. She was a beautiful woman and God knew she had been the source of all his erotic dreams for the past few weeks, but there was something about knowing another man was actively looking at her in that way that made his blood boil.

Before he could make a hasty exit Mrs. Nolan had spotted him as the conversation ended and then it had been just him and Emma on the back porch, the tension so thick between them he could have cut it with a knife. He had told himself he wouldn't say anything, that her ignoring his presence had been a clear sign she didn't want to talk to him but he couldn't shake the rising irritation over her not turning her mother's proposal down completely. Not that it was any of his business. They weren't in a relationship of any kind, weren't any friends anymore thanks to him, and she didn't owe him an explanation for her dating choices. If anything, he should have taken the time to try to apologise for his actions but that unknown emotion was still bubbling beneath the surface so he had dived right into the heart of the matter.

She had been rightfully miffed at his line of questioning and had only grown more agitated the longer he pressed her to admit she was going to start dating Deputy Humbert. That emotion he couldn't name had flared again at Emma mentioning Humbert's attractiveness and after her clear shot at him with saying the Deputy wasn't hypocritical, he had known he needed to extract himself from the tense situation before he said something else he would regret. Before he could depart though she had revealed she wasn't looking to necessarily fall in love with Humbert but would be fine with a strictly intimate relationship between them.

The crude way she had put it - _"Perfectly fine with simply letting him fuck me to relieve the itch"_ \- hadn't even phased him. Killian was a former sailor and had heard much worse in his years of service to Her Majesty, had even been known to use it himself before he took his vows. No, what had shocked him was the very physical reaction his body had to her words. The mental image of her wrapped around Humbert had caused his stomach to drop and his fist to tighten with the urge to punch the Irishman, a possessiveness he knew he had no right to feel rising within him as the image her words conjured played out in his mind. _There was no way in hell he would allow…_ Realisation had dawned on him like a cold bucket of water with the thought - he was _jealous_. That was the emotion he had been unable to name since he first heard Mrs. Nolan bring up the subject of Emma and Humbert dating. He was jealous that she was even considering it because _he_ wanted her for himself.

Before he could fully process his new revelation Mrs. Nolan had appeared and he had left the two women on the back porch as quickly but politely as possible, praying his internal thoughts weren't written all over his face. By passing the living room where Emma's father was, he had shut himself in the nearest bathroom to give himself a few moments of solitude to process what he had finally admitted to himself. He had been fooling himself into believing he simply liked having the temptation around, that he was like an alcoholic who went into a bar to stare at a drink to prove they could resist the urge to down it. He had told himself he liked the temptation she offered and that was all it was but the truth was, he didn't want to sit on the sidelines and only admire the temptation. He wanted to dive right into it.

Bloody hell, he wanted her.

He needed to be the one to bring her pleasure, to see her writhing beneath him and to taste her release on his tongue. He longed to be driven to the brink of madness by her touches and be the reason for her sated smile. He craved to hear her cries of ecstasy as she came around his cock and to fill her over and over again, giving her everything he had to offer. He shouldn't want it - he was a priest, a man of God who was charged with upholding the church's values in conflicting times but he couldn't lie to himself any more: he desired Emma Nolan.

Not that finally admitting that to himself changed anything he thought as he side stepped a young boy riding a tricycle in the street. He could want her but he could never have her. Perhaps if they had met eight years ago before he joined the priesthood they could have been together but the white collar at his neck ensured he would never know the beauty of Emma Nolan as she came undone. Because as much as he wanted her, atoning for Liam's death was more important than his carnal desires and nothing could change that.

Although it didn't stop his mind from imagining what could never happen.

It was like a dam breaking and whereas before his vivid sexual thoughts of Emma were confined only to his dreams, they now ran rampant at every available opportunity. He had only finished tomorrow's sermon the night before because every time he attempted to work on it his mind conjured all the places he wanted to take her - bent over his desk, on the kitchen island, in his bed. It had left him rock hard almost the entire day and only his will to uphold the vows he had taken as a priest, even those of absolute celibacy, had kept him from relieving his desire. When Emma had called him Thursday night asking to work from home on Friday so she could help her mother finish preparations for the BBQ he had been more than happy to allow it. He didn't yet trust himself to be in the same room as her when one of those stray sexual fantasies hit, which was part of the reason why he was dreading the social interaction he was currently headed to.

Mrs. Nolan's invitation to their annual Fourth of July BBQ had caught him off guard after he had finally let himself out of the bathroom Wednesday night. He had tried to get out of it, citing duties at the church and not wanting to intrude on a family tradition but the school teacher had been persistent, even insisting that Father Merlin had always joined them every year. He had looked to Emma to get a read on how she felt about her mother inviting him but she had been in a conversation with her father while they ate dinner and he had no option but to smile and accept the offer. He had told himself on his morning run earlier that it wasn't like he would be in a confined space alone with Emma - the Nolan's back yard was huge and there would be other people around. So even if he had to excuse himself to calm down at some point, there was no risk of him actually _doing_ anything.

_Keep telling yourself that, little brother._

Huffing at the thought, he took his headphones out as he climbed the front steps of the Nolan house, making sure to carefully stow them away in the backpack he had bought and turning the music on his phone off. It wasn't like Emma held the same feelings towards him anyway. Him being a priest aside, she was still angry at him for the way he had acted Sunday and that had been plainly evident by the clipped phone call Thursday and the fact that any time he had seen her in town she still called him 'Father Jones'. Besides, she had mentioned Sunday during their argument she had been drunk when they texted each other, so it was clear she hadn't meant for it to go as far as it did. Even if he was willing to break his vows - and he wasn't - she neither desired nor wanted anything to do with him anyway.

Groaning against the utter mess that had become his life, he opened the Nolan's front door and walked into the little square entryway. Mrs. Nolan had rang him the previous day to tell him the front door would be unlocked so he didn't bother to knock having learned in his short time as the town's priest that it wasn't uncommon for people to wander into each other's unlocked houses without announcing their presence, the close knit community making everyone feel safe. He sighed in relief when the cold AC of the house hit him, a stark contrast to the sweltering heat outside. It was barely eleven in the morning and already the temperature was well into the upper nineties and promising to rise even further as the day went on, a scorer of a day according to the local weatherman. Hearing sounds coming from the kitchen he made his way toward them, praying Emma wasn't in there alone. Having been in the Nolan home many times before he knew his way around the ground floor fairly well and went through the living room to the dining room, breathing another sigh of relief when he rounded the corner and only saw Mrs. Nolan in the kitchen. The school teacher was stirring a large pitcher of what he assumed was sweet tea at the kitchen island and looked up as he walked in.

"Father Jones!" she greeted with a large smile, tapping the wooden spoon she had been stirring with on the edge of the pitcher before placing it on a towel. "I wasn't expecting you for a few hours."

Killian smiled in return as he shifted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. "I hope arriving this early isn't too presumptuous of me. I thought I might offer my assistance with any last minute preparations."

"Not presumptuous at all!" Mary Margaret assured him, picking up the pitcher and moving towards the fridge. "I'm all set in here but David could probably use some help with getting the outside games ready. If he's not on the patio follow the pathway down to the pool area and he should be there."

He raised an eyebrow in question. "Outside games?"

Mary Margaret laughed as she shut the refrigerator door. "We started doing them when Emma was little but have kind of kept them as the years went on, although it's more a competitive angle now than keeping a bunch of children entertained. They make for some hilarious BBQ stories though. Remind me to tell you about the time Emma and the girls used a slingshot to shoot a freezing wet sponge into David's face."

Killian laughed at the mental image and after making sure Mrs. Nolan didn't need any help, made his way out the sliding glass door. Like the rest of their home the patio area was elegantly decorated but not overtly lavish, a square black table with an inlaid marble ceramic tile top sat to his right with four matching steel chairs surrounding it, each one padded with a khaki colored cushion. String lights were hung from the house to support poles on the other side of the concrete for gentle night lighting and a fire pit lay to his left that had matching chairs from the table around it. A medium sized grill was angled in the patio's corner and various potted plants were scattered over the concrete area, giving it a welcoming and homey vibe.

Seeing no sign of the Sheriff, he turned to the right and headed down the short stepping stone pathway that had indicated. Rose bushes grew all around the edge of the pool area to give it a layer of privacy, the red and pink colors a bright contrast to the foliage they lived in and added to the pool's natural relaxed ambiance. The pool itself was an in ground and he could feel his sweat soaked body practically vibrate with the need to submerge himself in it, the crystal blue water calling to him like a siren of old. The furniture on the right side was the same as the furniture on the patio behind him except the chairs held dark red cushions instead of khaki ones and there were multiple tables with dark brown umbrellas fixed to their centers and opened to provide shade from the unrelenting sun. Two long folding tables sat at the opposite end of the pool under a white tent and were covered in a blue tablecloth, dinnerware already set out while the left side of the pool area held white sunbathing chairs that were angled and pre covered in brightly colored beach towels, just waiting for the Nolan's guests to lay on them.

A quick glance told him the Sheriff wasn't down here either and turning to head back into the house, he was stopped dead in his tracks by the sight in front of him.

_Mary mother of God and everything holy._

Emma was lying on one of the sunbathing chairs with the back propped up at a 120 degree angle, her right leg bent and arms stretched above her head while wearing nothing but the smallest bikini he had ever seen. It was blood red, the color of sin and was barely held onto her body by the thin ties at the sides of her hips and around her neck. Her blonde hair was piled high atop her head in a messy bun that exposed the long column of her neck with small tendrils escaping to frame her face. He knew he shouldn't be staring at her in such a way but a horde of heavenly angels couldn't have torn his gaze away from her in that moment. He didn't know where to look - the flare of her hips, those long and shapely legs, her perfectly rounded breasts - it was miles and miles of creamy white skin on display and he could feel his cock hardening the longer he stared at her. He watched as she stretched her upper body suddenly, breasts lifting slightly with the movement and he couldn't contain the strangled groan that rolled from deep within his throat.

She started at the sound, head and arms lowering as she caught sight of him. He couldn't see her eyes because of the large black sunglasses she wore but he didn't miss the quirk of her right eyebrow as she regarded him.

"Father Jones. I didn't hear you arrive."

"I- uh..." Killian mentally slapped himself as he fumbled for words, his usual elegance with language lost to him as his eyes continued to run from her red painted toes to the loose tendrils of hair that had escaped her bun. When he failed to even complete a sentence a knowing smirk pulled at her pink lips and he felt himself turn the same shade of red as her bikini all the way to the tips of his ears.

Thank the Lord he had put his sunglasses back on when he exited the house and she wasn't able to see how his eyes landed on everything _but_ her face.

Clearing his throat he stammered, "I was… uh… Your mother said your father would be out here and might need… um, assistance with setting things up."

"Oh, dad and Graham are in the attic gathering the game stuff," she replied, flicking at something on her collarbone and inadvertently drawing his attention back to her breasts. While the fabric covered her enough to be considered decent, he could still see the slopes of her breasts and a distinctive freckle that lay on the inside of her right one. He had never wanted to bite a freckle so much in his entire life and then his brain finally shifted through the fog of desire to process what Emma had said. He felt a flash of annoyance and hurt at the knowledge that Humbert was already here assisting the Nolans and within close proximity to Emma, although he told himself he had no right to feel like he was being left out of something. It wasn't like Humbert and he were in a competition for Emma's affections - if anything, the Irishman had more than a substantial lead on him in that category considering Killian was a priest and unable to compete, but it still did nothing to calm his jealousy as he thought about Humbert staring at her in her current lack of clothes.

"I wasn't aware the deputy was already here," he said with perhaps a touch too much venom in his voice. If Emma noticed, she didn't comment on it.

"He arrived early this morning to help dad with the food prep. Something about the proper procedure for marinating steaks and I don't know, I came out here to get some sun before everyone started to arrive."

Killian nodded, his eyes now fixated on her bikini bottoms. It was just a thin piece of fabric and wouldn't take much for him to push it to the side and sink into the heat he knew was beneath them… He quickly shook his head at the thought, internally cursing at the path his mind had tried to take. This was exactly what he had been afraid would happen. Now that he had admitted he wanted her to himself he was unable to keep his mind from wandering down a sinful path his body could not follow - not that it wasn't trying to. He was already half hard and he knew if he stayed any longer, it was going to become something he couldn't easily hide and one that he didn't trust himself not to find an empty bathroom to take care of.

Already moving toward the pathway between the rose bushes, he started to make his exit. "Well, I won't keep you Miss Nolan. I'll just go inside and see if they need any-"

"Actually, Father Jones?"

He paused, half turning back toward her even as his mind screamed at him to just keep walking. "Yes?"

She was leaning over the side of the sunbathing chair, facing away from him and he had to bite his tongue to keep from groaning at the sight of her bikini bottoms hugging that delectable ass. Raising back up, she held a bottle of sunscreen in her right hand and raised her eyebrow.

"Would you mind reapplying my back?"

_Bloody hell the universe was not on his side today._

He couldn't do it. There was no way he would be able to touch all that skin and it not effect him to the point that he would be dragging her to the nearest secluded spot and fucking her, other people finding them and his own mortal soul be damned. It was an odd request as well a small part of his brain whispered to him. Just three days ago she couldn't stand to be in the same vicinity as him and now she was _asking_ him to touch her? Well, sunburn was a viable reason to ask even someone you disliked to put sunscreen on you… He counted to ten in his head, reminding himself over and over again the reason he had taken his priestly vows before speaking, his voice slightly strained.

"I don't think that's a good idea…"

"Oh, of course," she interrupted, an innocent smile on her lips. "Not the most appropriate request, I'm sure. It's okay, I'll just ask Graham to do it when he finishes up in the attic."

He was equal parts shocked and impressed with the speed in which he moved toward her, taking the bottle from her hand before she even had time to lower her arm a fraction of an inch. He may not survive it but there was no _bloody_ way he was going to let Humbert touch her.

Her eyebrow lifted in amusement. "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable…"

He shrugged in what he hoped was a casual manner as he sat his backpack down on the concrete. "There's no telling how long your father and Graham will take and letting you burn under the unforgiving sun would be bad form, lass," he lied. Nodding in agreement, Emma reached behind her to lower the sunbathing chair flat before quickly turning over onto her stomach, arms stretched above her once again. Taking a few deep breaths he sat on the very edge of the chair just above her left hip, squeezing a liberal amount of sunscreen into his left palm and making sure to rub his hands together to prevent the substance from going on her cold. _He could do this_. He was just a simple priest making sure his employee didn't get a sunburn - perfectly appropriate, despite the fact he was doing it so another man wouldn't touch her. Saying one last silent prayer that he would be able to hold it together, he began to lightly apply the sunscreen, starting at her shoulders in a slow, circular pattern.

The first touch of his fingers to her bare skin sent a jolt of electricity through him so strong his breath caught at the same moment she gasped softly, the sound causing his heart to beat faster against his ribcage. Her back was dotted with freckles that reminded him of the constellations in the night sky and even with the thick layer of sunscreen coating his hands he could tell her skin was soft. He tried not to wonder what it would be like to skim his fingers down that same back as she rode him or to trace those freckles as she lay curled around him, both of them sated and spent.

Moving to her mid-back, he carefully maneuvered beneath the flimsy string of her bikini, imagining untying it and letting his lips follow the path of her spine with soft kisses… Catching himself mid-thought he moved his thumbs with a firmer swipe than he had intended to and Emma groaned in pleasure, the sound causing every drop of blood he had to go south. _Bloody hell!_ Swallowing thickly, he continued the movement of his hands over her back with the new pressure. His mind screamed at him not to but the desire pumping through his blood took over his body, the need to pull that sound from her pretty lips again an ancient and instinctual one. He was rewarded with another quiet moan and he was absolutely lost.

Time seemed to stop all around him as his entire world zeroed on the pale expanse of skin before him and the way his hands glided over it, the rising humidity nothing compared to the thrumming in his veins. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck but he couldn't tell if it was from the sun beating down on him or because of the noises the woman in front of him was making. Little whimpers and moans, breathy sighs and the occasional quiet murmuring of _'Oh, that's nice'_ \- it was driving him insane but he couldn't stop. He didn't _want_ to stop. Sliding his hand down to coat her lower back he watched her arch into his touch, the image of her doing the same movement as he slid into her from behind causing his cock to pulse in his too-tight dress pants.

Telling himself it was because he didn't want the area to burn even though she easily could have reached it herself, he skimmed his hands starting from the flare of her hips and up her sides, the tips of his fingers brushing against the plastic chair as he went. He was unbelievably hard and had to focus on the rosary that was in his pocket and digging into his thigh to keep from saying to hell with his vows, flip her over, and find out what she tasted like…

Emma's breath suddenly hitched and on instinct he flexed his fingers, his mouth opening to ask if she was okay when he realised where his hands were. Lost in his own sinful thoughts he had let his hands slide up further than he had intended and they were now resting on the sides of her barely clothed breasts, his fingers effectively cupping them. He flexed his fingers again before he could think the action through, the soft flesh and Emma's groan of _Killian_ making his cock jerk. His lust filled mind instantly cleared at the sound of his real name coming from her lips and he jerked his hands away as if she had burned him, almost tripping in his haste to stand and put space between them.

This was wrong, he shouldn't have allowed this to happen...

"I-I should go inside and see if they need any help," he stammered, eyes everywhere but on the blonde goddess before him. Picking up his backpack and not caring about the sunscreen still on his hands, he turned and practically ran from the pool area.

* * *

Emma stayed still as the priest's footsteps faded, trying and failing to get her breathing under control.

After helping her mother with the final food preparations she had decided to sunbathe a little before everyone else arrived, more specifically before Killian did. She had spent the last three days envisioning how today would play out and making a mental list of all the little ways she could torture the good Father. Despite having a drawer full of swimsuits she had went shopping with the girls on Thursday, needing one that would completely blow the priest's mind. It had taken half the day and multiple stops but in the end she had found one - a barely there red two piece that screamed sin and sex. She hadn't even tried it on before purchasing it, her sixth sense as a woman telling her it was the perfect outfit to seduce him in.

If his reaction upon seeing her was any indication, her instinct hadn't steered her wrong.

She had been more than a little surprised to see him standing mere feet from her since she hadn't heard him enter the pool area at all as she lost herself in the sun and her own sinful thoughts. Even with his aviator sunglasses hiding his eyes she had known he was checking her out as they made polite conversation. She had catalogued every unknowing tilt of his head, stammered response, movement of the fingers on his right hand, and the way his tongue licked at his lips as he drank in the sight of her. It had made her feel powerful, her skin tingling beneath his gaze and it had taken every ounce of willpower she had not to squirm as her clit throbbed with desire.

She hadn't intended to make him jealous by mentioning Graham was there, hadn't even given her words much thought but with the darker tone his voice had taken afterward she knew his jealousy had sparked. It was ultimately what had given her the idea to ask him to apply sunscreen to her back.. After all, she had planned on thoroughly torturing the man all day, might as well start somewhere.

And it had worked beautifully.

She had felt the sexual tension radiating off him in waves as he rubbed her back and she had smirked every time she heard his breathing falter. However, what she hadn't counted on, was how her own body would react to his touch. Every inch of her back had tingled where he came into contact with it, goosebumps breaking out on her arms at the feeling of his strong fingers gliding over her skin. When he had applied a bit more pressure she had practically melted into the sunbathing chair, her back arching ever so slightly as she thought about his hands running up and down her body while he took her on her knees. Wetness had pooled between her thighs and she was on the verge of asking him to do the back of her legs as well just to get his touch closer to where she needed him most when his hands had slid up her sides, fingers coming to rest on the sides of her breasts. She couldn't stop herself from groaning his name at the feel of his fingers on her, especially when he had flexed them and added just a hint of pressure.

Before she could even clear the fog of desire from her own mind his touch was gone and he was making a hasty retreat back to the house, leaving her alone on a sunbathing chair and extremely turned on. Clenching her thighs to try to relieve the ache that she knew she wouldn't have time to take care of before everyone else arrived, Emma smiled in victory.

Phase one of seducing Father Jones had been a success.

* * *

This had been a terrible idea, perhaps the worst one he had ever had and for a former sailor who had been known to do crazy things while filled with rum, that was saying something.

Rubbing sunscreen on a practically naked Emma Nolan had been his first mistake. He had known he wouldn't be able to do it without it affecting him but had told himself it would be fine, that he was simply a priest doing his duty and helping another human being out. _Let's not lie to ourselves, little brother. You also did it because you didn't want the Deputy putting his hands on her._ Killian's grip on the red cup in his hand tightened at the thought, the crinkling of plastic loud in his ears. He couldn't refute the truth behind the thought though, no matter how much he wanted to. All his jealousy had gotten him in the end was a rock hard erection and fifteen minutes barricaded in the Nolan's downstairs bathroom thinking of every unsexy thing he could to ease the pressure in his pants. He had to remind himself over and over again that although he wanted her it didn't mean she wanted him and he was almost certain if she knew of the sinful thoughts he had been having while helping her, she would most certainly never want to see him again. He had seriously contemplated giving some excuse and leaving but that was admitting defeat and Killian Jones never backed away from a challenge, even if it was one he had set for himself.

That had been his second mistake.

After changing into the swim trunks and plain white t-shirt he had brought in his backpack he had stayed as far away from Emma as he could by helping her father set up the outside games. It had kept him busy - spray painting different colored circles on the lawn, filling up water balloons - and his conversation with the Sheriff had kept his mind relatively off the blonde siren. David Nolan was a charming man with a quick wit and infectious sense of humor, and it was easy to see why the residents of Storybrooke had chosen him to be their sheriff for over twenty years. By the time they had finished setting everything up people had started to arrive and the BBQ had officially started. He hadn't seen Emma nor Humbert the entire time he was helping Mr. Nolan and he had ignored the flash of jealousy at the thought of them alone somewhere.

By the time the party started the temperature was closer to 100 than ninety with the humidity bearing down on them as strongly as the sun's rays. It wasn't long before he found himself shedding his white t-shirt and spraying a generous amount of the sunscreen Mrs. Nolan had stationed at certain tables onto his chest and back, not wanting a repeat of becoming a lobster like he had on his first tour in the Navy. As soon as Emma's friends had arrived she had appeared from nowhere, still clad in that flimsy excuse of a red bikini with her hair now cascading down her shoulders. It had taken everything in him not to just stare at her as she flittered around the pool area, laughing and conversing with those closest to the Nolans. He had tried to distract himself by engaging socially with the other party members, listening as previous BBQ stories were told and current gossip was exchanged but she was always there just at the corner of his vision, the sin colored swimsuit and blonde hair catching his eye no matter what way he turned. There had been a small break from the torture when Belle had arrived, dark hair in a high ponytail and a nautical themed cover up over her swim suit. For a while he had been able to ignore the constant assault Emma was wreaking on his senses as he admired just how far his sister had come.

She had been a quiet and broken woman when she arrived in Storybrooke, the events of the past few years weighing heavily on her soul. A shadow of the vibrant woman he had grown up with, the light that had always emitted from her dimmed by the hand of a man. But in the six months she had been here he had seen pieces of the person she had once been slowly come back, her laughter a little more genuine and the sparkle to her eyes a bit brighter. A year ago she would have stayed in a corner of the party, eyes downcast and not interacted with anyone but the woman before him now was the complete opposite - conversing with everyone, laughing as she told stories from when they were young - practically the life of the party.

But then Robin had arrived with his wife and adopted son and Killian's torture had continued anew.

Henry, being a typical ten year old boy, had seen the pool and immediately wanted to go in. Emma and her three friends had rallied behind the young boy and before he knew it she was in the pool, laughing and throwing around a blow up beach ball. If he had thought seeing her in nothing but a bikini was torture it was nothing compared to Emma Nolan in a flimsy bikini and wet. He had only half listened to the conversations about the new addition to the docks as he watched her move about the pool, her bikini top clinging to her breasts in the most enticing way. He should have walked away, offered to help Mrs. Nolan in some fashion but he had only found himself creeping closer and closer until he was in his current position.

He was standing at the edge of the pool, face turned so it seemed he was looking out over the entire length of it but his eyes, hidden behind his sunglasses, were trained on the site directly below him. The beach ball had been abandoned some time ago and all four of the girls were on floats, chatting away as Henry continued to play in the shallow end of the pool. Emma was on a see through float, hair once again piled high atop her head and sunglasses on her face. His eyes roamed her body, taking in the slight pinkish hue her skin had acquired after a few hours in the sun and the way she would occasionally drag her hand through the water to rewet her sun dried skin.

It had been a terrible idea to come here. He had told himself he could handle being around her since there were going to be other people but he was learning fast that he had been lying to himself. He wasn't anywhere near her, the pool area filled with people and all he could think about was sinking into the pool, pulling her off the float, and ravishing her as the cool water licked at their sun kissed skin...

"Killian?"

Pulled from his less than innocent thoughts, he turned to see Belle standing next to him in a yellow one piece, a concerned frown pulling at her lips.

"Are you okay?"

His brows knitted in confusion at her question. "Why wouldn't I be okay, love?"

He watched her look down at the plastic cup in her hand, index finger tapping along its side. "Because you've been… off the past few days."

Of course his sister would pick up on his jumbled emotions. It wasn't like he could tell his baby sister he was having lustful thoughts about the sheriff's daughter though. "I'm fine," he lied, giving her his best fake smile when she looked back up at him. He could tell she wasn't buying it however with the way she tilted her head and the look she leveled him with.

"It's just- we're worried about you…"

"We?"

"Yes, we, you git."

Robin appeared at his left side then, clad in a pair of forest green swim trunks with his sunglasses resting atop his head. "We're _both_ worried about you."

Killian stared at his best friend. "Why are you worried about me?"

"You want me to list the reasons, mate? More than one person has mentioned how your sermons seem to be lacking their normal passion this week, you've been virtually unreachable since last Sunday, and when we do talk to you your only half listening to the conversation," Robin replied, ticking each one off on his fingers.

Belle nodded in agreement. "And you've been very-"

"Broody."

"Well, I was going to go with quiet and sullen."

"No, don't sugar coat it, Belle. He's been brooding the entire week."

"I have not been broody," Killian huffed somewhat angrily, taking a long pull of his lemonade.

"Actually, you kind of have been," Belle responded, shrugging when Killian shot her an incredulous look. "You spent most of the time during our dinner on Tuesday glaring at your lasagna with your jaw twitching."

"And Thursday you barely paid attention to the Man U game at the bar. Didn't even react when that bloke from Liverpool side lined our best player," Robin pointed out, taking a swig from his beer.

Killian sighed. He shouldn't be surprised that Robin and Belle had picked up on his inner turmoil. They were after all his best friend and sister, the people who had seen him through first the Milah debacle and then Liam's death, the only constants he had left in his life. He thought he had been doing well keeping his inner struggle hidden from them but clearly the argument with Emma on Sunday had affected him even more than he realised, as did his subsequent revelation about wanting her. Looking back he had spent a good portion of his dinner with Belle quiet and withdrawn, kicking himself for taking his anger out on Emma. He couldn't even really remember watching the game with Robin at the _Black Lion_ , his mind on what he wanted to do with Emma and his anger rising thinking about her doing those same things with Humbert.

"We're just worried about you," Belle said, placing a comforting hand on his forearm. Robin nodded, clasping his shoulder affectionately.

"Whatever it is, you know you can talk to us about it."

Guilt rose sharply within him as he looked between the two of them. They were simply worried about him, giving him the same look they had when he had drowned his heartbreak every night with multiple bottles of rum years ago but unlike then, he couldn't confide his dark thoughts to them. Priests weren't suppose to have those kinds of thoughts. Both Robin and Belle were fairly religious people, had grown up in the Catholic faith just as he had and he could only imagine the horror and disgust they would feel toward him if he laid bare his soul's dark desires.

"I'm fine, really," he said at length, trying to reassure himself as well as them. "Things have just been hectic at the church and I've been preoccupied with-"

A high pitched squeal cut him off and Killian turned his head from the concerned face of his sister back toward the pool just in time to see Emma's float flip over, sending the blonde into the water. _What in the world…_ Before he could move an inch toward the pool to help her Graham popped up from beneath the water, laughing and infuriatingly shirtless while it was clear he had been the one to tip Emma over into the water. Ruby was practically doubled over laughing on her own float while Elsa shook her head at the silly shenanigans, Tink moving to get her float far away from the Deputy. Emma came sputtering up then, her wet bun hanging slightly to the left and wiping water from her eyes and nose.

"Get a little wet there, Em?" Graham goaded, throwing her a flirtatious smirk that had Killian's blood boiling and his hand tightening on his cup again.

Once again able to see, Emma narrowed her eyes at him in a playful glare. "Oh you are _so_ going to pay for that!"

Killian watched as she lunged for the Irishman, the green eyed monster in him rearing again as Graham wrapped his arms around her bare waist, holding her tightly to him as Emma tried to return the favor by dunking him under the water. Unable to watch the interaction Killian closed his eyes, jaw clenching uncontrollably as their mingled laughter rang out over the pool area. He couldn't take seeing Humbert's hands on her body and knowing he would never be able to touch her in the same way, that he would never know what it was like to trail his hands down her backside or feel those legs wrapped around his waist….

This had been a terrible idea and he needed to get away from the situation. Before he could make his excuses to go into the house and find something not valuable of the Nolan's to punch, the Sheriff was calling their attention.

"The games are beginning, ladies and gentleman!"

Seeing a way for him to distract himself from Emma being in Graham's arms - and to keep himself from punching a bathroom door - Killian quickly drained the rest of his lemonade and set the cup on one of the nearby tables.

"Let's go play some games."

"Killian…"

"Come on, Belle, it'll be fun! I'll even let you win a few of them."

"I think we should finish talking…"

Turning completely toward his sister he gently grasped her arms. "I'm _fine_ Belle, I swear."

Her eyes searched his face for a long second before shaking her head, her long ponytail swaying with the motion.

"No, something is bothering you, Killian. I can sense it."

Sighing, he let go of one of her arms to scrub at his jaw. He should have known he wouldn't be able to fool Belle Jones that easily and by the unmoving form of his best friend, Robin Loxley didn't buy his lie either. Staring into her worried blue eyes that matched his own, he gave her a portion of the truth.

"Yes, something is bothering me but I… I can't talk about it right now. I'm still processing it myself and I need time."

Her nod of understanding was almost instant. "Of course, Killian. Just… promise me you will talk to me or Robin at some point."

"Of course," he replied, the guilt almost choking him at the lie. Placing an affectionate kiss to her forehead he turned to his best friend.

"You joining us?"

"Aye," Robin replied, knowing his best friend well enough to know the subject was currently closed. "I've just got to find Regina and wrangle Henry from the pool and we'll be there."

"Wonderful!"

Throwing an arm around Belle's shoulder Killian steered them toward the exit, intent on not letting his eyes fall back to the scene of Emma and Humbert wet and in each other's arms. Playing against Belle and Robin in some games was just the distraction he needed - what could possibly go wrong?


	9. Torture of the Best Kind

 

He was in the very depths of hell and it had absolutely nothing to do with the early afternoon sun beating down on him.

The games had started off as the perfect distraction. There was a variety of them ranging from a simple horseshoe toss to a water balloon race - he had beaten Belle by a landslide in the former and just barely squeezed past Robin to win the latter - but all of them sparked the competitive drive in him, forcing him to concentrate on the task at hand rather than wondering what Emma and Humbert were doing. He had even joined Henry in the three legged race and helped Anna's fiance, Kristoff, win in the bowling competition where they rolled a beach ball toward empty two liter soda bottles. It was fun to momentarily forget he was the town's priest and socialize without the weight of his office bearing down on his shoulders or reminding himself of that unspoken line with people he couldn't cross as a priest. Here he was simply Killian Jones, a member of a small town community enjoying a get together. Within an hour he had found himself completely relaxed, his mind free of everything that had been plaguing him for the past week and truly laughing for the first time all morning.

But then he had decided to participate in lawn twister.

Robin was supposed to be his competitor for it but just before the game began Henry had caught sight of the foam noodles the Nolans had fashioned into swords and had all but begged his adopted father to sword fight with him. Killian had looked for Belle to replace Robin but upon seeing her engrossed in conversation with the town therapist, Archie Hopper, he had been about to bow out of the game when a very familiar female voice spoke up that she would play with him. Of course it would be Emma bloody Nolan. He was once again surprised that she was volunteering to be around him seeing as the last time they had been around each other she was still angry and withdrawn over their argument. He had briefly considered still leaving the game but she had fixed him with her emerald gaze and drawled _think you can handle it?_ , popping the last 'T' and it had been enough for his competitive side to win out over rational thought. It was just a game, after all, and the sudden urge to beat her after her little episode in the pool with Graham had almost overcome him.

Which was exactly why he was in his current predicament of absolute hell.

The game, as Mrs. Nolan had explained the rules, would start off with pairs of two on their own individually spray painted areas of the lawn. If one person in a team fell both were knocked out and it would continue that way until only one pair remained at which time, the game would shift and the first one of that pair to fall would be the runner-up and the remaining person the winner of the whole game. Twelve moves in and he was already in an awkward push up position, his feet shoulder width apart and his right hand directly under him with his left arm stretched under and around his right arm to reach the yellow dot closest to him. Most people would have fallen trying to get into the position but he had years in the Royal Naval and his current exercise regime to thank for keeping himself from falling flat on his face.

The only problem with his position was the blonde woman beneath him and the way her pert little ass was currently resting against the front of his swim trunks. In order to reach the green dot currently under his right hand he had been forced to maneuver himself over Emma's body that was in a very similar position to his own except her body had been lower to the grass because of her right leg placement. The last move, however, had her bending her right leg to reach the colored dot called out by her mother which had pushed her rump directly in line with his groin.

And it was absolute torture.

Sweat was trickling down his back and forehead and the humidity of a July afternoon in the South was pushing on him from every angle but all Killian could focus on was the light pressure where Emma's ass rested against him. He was finding himself once again trying to think of every unsexy thing he could to keep his body from reacting to her touch and he was almost certain walking the plank into shark infested waters would be less stressful than his current position. He only had to hold on for a few more minutes for Mrs. Nolan to call Emma's next move…

His breath hitched as he suddenly felt the pressure on his groin increase, eyes snapping open from where he had screwed them shut to block out any impure thoughts while in this delicate situation. It had been an accident, of course. Emma was just adjusting her body to keep her weight centered he told himself, forcing his breathing to return to normal. It didn't last long, however, because before he knew it he felt the press of her arse against his cock again, this time even firmer and with a slight back and forth movement.

_What in the bloody hell was she doing?_

He tried to lift his hips as far away from her as he could but his precarious arm position didn't allow for much movement, not unless he wanted to fall and lose the game and Killian Jones hated to lose anything. Instead, he was forced to simply grit his teeth at her continued movements and tried to focus on the burn in his arm muscles rather than the pleasurable sensations she was sparking with every slide of her ass against him. It was a losing battle though and he could feel his cock slowly start to stir to life despite his best efforts. If he didn't get her to stop soon he was going to bloody embarrass himself….

"Emma! Left foot red!"

_Oh thank God._

Killian let out a noticeable sigh of relief as he felt Emma shift beneath him, her new foot placement bringing her almost completely out from under him and her ass far away from his groin. Turning his head as much as he could, he watched her settle into the new position, somewhat grateful that he couldn't angle his head more to view the exposed skin of her back. Just as he was about to look away Emma turned her head to look over her right shoulder and their eyes instantly connected. He could have sworn he saw a mischievous glint in those emerald depths and the beginnings of a smirk pulling at her pink lips but before he could fully process them she was turning her head away from him. Blinking in confusion, he told himself he had imagined them because there was no way Emma Nolan would have deliberately done what she did… right?

Shaking his head against the thought - the woman was still angry about their argument on Sunday, she wouldn't have been purposefully rubbing on him - he took a few deep cleansing breaths and prayed to God that the rest of the game went by without further testing his resolve.

* * *

Settling further into her new position on the spray painted map, Emma smiled in silent victory.

It had been purely by chance she had even arrived in time to volunteer herself to be Killian's counterpart in the game. Although her impromptu wrestling match with Graham in the pool had ended the second the priest had left, it had caught the attention of her too observant best friends. She had been cornered before she could even make it out of the pool, Ruby's smirk and Tink's raised eyebrow telling her they had seen the overtly playful and slightly flirtatious nature between the deputies. She had tried waving the entire thing off - it wasn't the first time Graham had dumped her off a float, after all - but apparently in her quest to make Killian jealous, she had sold the flirtation aspect a little too well. Her mother suddenly appearing at the side of the pool from nowhere hadn't helped matters, the school teacher practically vibrating with happiness at what she had seen and letting slip to the girls Graham's interest in Emma.

From there it had been an hour long interrogation by her best friends that would have seen even the most hardened criminal break down and confess to a crime they hadn't committed. Ruby, true to form, had kept her remarks and questions firmly in the gutter, many of which Emma had flatly refused to answer with her mother standing close by while Tink had gushed over the romance of the situation, shooting question after question at Emma about her long term wants with the Irishman and if there was a future there. Elsa had been all about practicality - _"What will this mean for your jobs?"_ and _"Are you okay with the age gap and dating a coworker?"_ \- but Emma could tell beneath the questions the other blonde was just as giddy as her other friends about the turn of events.

She had kept her questions as truthful as possible, not wanting to outright lie to the three people she was closest to but there was no way she could tell them her true motives behind engaging Graham like she had. As understanding as her friends were she somehow doubted they would be as happy or encouraging if they knew her real plan was to get their priest into her bed. She had felt guilty hiding something from them but they had all done it at one time or another with small things she told herself. None of them had known Ruby made a move and was shot down by her crush Victor Whale while they were in high school until years later and it had taken a drunken truth or dare game for Tink to disclose she had gotten a Tinkerbell tattoo on her hip four summers ago while visiting her great-aunt in New York. Even Elsa had hidden the fact that she had spent the first few winters in college participating in a figure skating production because she had the hots for the guy who ran it until Ruby had caught her practicing when she came home over Christmas break.

Granted, wanting to fuck a Catholic priest was not even remotely on the same level as those secrets but that was the entire reason she had to keep it to herself. She had also felt a twinge of guilt for using Graham to further her seduction of Father Jones, especially in such a physical way. Thanks to her mother even she could see the signs that he was interested in her - physical touches that were innocent but bordered on seductive, his flirtatious but still veiled remarks - and she could only hope that he hadn't read too much into their wrestling match. She may not want him like he wanted her but she still cared for him as a friend and colleague.

Having escaped the Ruby, Tink, and Elsa interrogation she had made her way to the area of the backyard where the games had been set up, her eyes instantly landing on Killian's dark figure near the lawn twister game. She had sensed him debating on whether to still play once she had offered to join him and although it was slightly underhanded - not that the entire plan to seduce a priest wasn't - she had purposefully challenged him, knowing just how competitive he was. She hadn't even meant for her initial movement while precariously perched beneath him to be seductive in any way. She had only been trying to relieve the ache in her lower back as she waited for her next turn but upon finding out her ass was perfectly situated against the front of his shorts, she couldn't pass up that kind of opportunity.

A thrill had shot through her when she heard his audible intake of breath as she pressed more firmly into his groin, the sound of his ragged breathing spurring her on to push her ass more into him. With only her bikini bottoms and his swim trunks between their point of contact she had been able to feel the unmistakable form of his half hard cock and her core had clenched at the knowledge, her hips gently rocking back and forth of their own violation in her fruitless effort to ease the ache between her thighs. She hadn't missed how he hardened even more with the movement and she had to give the priest his due - he was packing quite the package in those swim trunks. Luck had been on her side as well considering their board placement. They were close enough to the others to hear her mother call out their next move but far enough away to not hear the conversations of the other players or have prying eyes watching them too closely. Anyone looking in their direction would have been oblivious to what she was doing to the good Father.

When her mother called out her next position she had been tempted to simply move her foot over one spot and keep her movements against his cock up but her lower back had begun to protest the extreme angle she was in and she didn't want the game to end before she really had a chance to torture him more. Reluctantly, she had moved her left foot to another red circle that brought her out from under him almost completely, her body tingling with the need to be pressed intimately against him again. The true victory though had been seeing the unmistakable darkening of his blue eyes, the desire swirling within their depths enough to make her clit throb with want.

Oh yeah, he wanted her - and she was going to have fun bringing him to his knees.

* * *

God was clearly not answering his prayers today.

They were still in the game, one of three pairs still standing after twenty minutes of play and by the looks of Ruby's shaking arm and the intense look of concentration on Humbert's face, a few more moves and the game would be between him and Emma and Kristoff and Elsa. That is, if he could survive his current position on the spray painted circles because if he thought having Emma's ass pressed against his groin had been torture, it was nothing compared to this. He was once again in an awkward push up position, left hand directly under him with his right hand a little ways above his head and his right leg bent, left leg straight and he was unable to look away from the side view of Emma's breasts.

She was in a tricky position herself directly in front of him with her left side facing him. Her front half was facing upwards with both hands behind and directly beneath her supporting most of her weight, left leg bent under her body and her right leg stretched straight ahead. It was an impressive position, one that spoke to the fact that she obviously did yoga of some sort because she'd been holding it for a good five minutes while the other teams took their turns. The only problem was it put her bikini clad breasts directly in his line of sight.

And he was a weak, weak man.

He had tried not to look at them, he truly had, but they were _right there_ , perfectly rounded globes encased in sinful red and he was certain not even a saint could have looked away from them. Because of her arm position they were thrust up, the fabric of her bikini stretched tight over them and with the bottom of the top riding up slightly, he was given a small glimpse of the underside of her left breast. The stretch of forbidden skin called out to him and he found himself licking his lower lip as his eyes took in the gentle slope as it disappeared beneath her top, wanting to run his tongue over the sensitive skin before leaving his mark of possession there…

"Admiring the view, Father?"

Killian's eyes snapped up to see Emma looking at him, her head tilted slightly and a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"I wasn't-"

She shrugged as best she could in her awkward position. "Nothing wrong with admiring what God created, Father Jones," she teased, eyes flickering down to her own body before coming back to him. He could feel his entire face burn with embarrassment at having been caught staring - by the object of his desire no less - and quickly dropped his eyes to the spray painted lawn beneath them.

"Please accept my apology, Miss Nolan. I- I don't know what came over me."

"You don't have to apologise-"

Killian shook his head quickly, eyes remaining firmly on the ground. "No, I do. I shouldn't have been looking at you in such a way. Completely bad form on my part, lass."

Silence fell between them and he mentally kicked himself. He'd been somewhat alone with her for less than half an hour and couldn't even control himself from ogling her to the point she had caught him doing so. If she hated him before she must truly think he was the lowest scum now; a priest sexually looking at her…

"Is it bad form if you enjoyed it?"

Killian's head snapped up at her words. "I didn't enjoy it!" Feeling his eyes grow comically wide at realising he may have inadvertently offended her, he stuttered, "I mean- that's not to say that you aren't… You _are_..."

Emma raised a blonde eyebrow. "You may wear the white collar at your neck Father Jones but beneath those robes you're still a man. Did you not admire women in a sexual way before you became a priest?"

He was more than a little thrown off by her blunt question but more so because she was actually conversing with him about a subject matter other than work. She had spent the last six days going out of her way to avoid him except for professional reasons and now she was suddenly not only talking to him like she had when they were alone in the church's kitchen, but also broaching a subject he should not be having with anyone, let alone his employee. He knew her to be an inquisitive person, someone who was always questioning why things had to be a certain way but this was odd even for her and a niggling thought teased the back of his mind that she had a secret motive for asking such a question.

"I did," he answered carefully, adjusting the position of his hands on their colored dots as he felt his arm muscles begin to ache. "But I was not bound by the laws of the church or God's will at that time. Admiring the female form and all it has to offer the world is not allowed by my current profession, no matter if I am a simple man behind the position."

She hummed thoughtfully, letting her cheek fall to her left shoulder. "I must admit, that's an aspect of your job I've always found to be… confusing."

"Oh? How so?"

"As a priest you're told it is a sin to take pleasure in the human flesh, that to simply look upon someone with desire goes against God's wishes. But was it not God himself that made the human form?"

That niggling thought that she had an ulterior motive was slowly becoming louder. "Aye," he simply responded, hoping his lack of an in-depth answer would keep the conversation from escalating. Since when had Emma Nolan used the example of God to make a point?

"And admittedly it's been some years since I read the Bible but I _do_ seem to recall it saying all of God's work is sacred, correct?" she continued despite his lackluster response, ending her inquiry by biting her lip seductively.

He knew he should answer her or at the very least question where she was going with the topic but all he could concentrate on was the way her teeth sunk into that plump lower lip and how the coil of desire in his stomach tightened at the action. He wanted nothing more than to sink his own teeth into that lip, nipping hard enough to feel her gasp of desire before he claimed every inch of her mouth with his tongue. It wasn't the first time he had seen her bite her lip. Emma had a habit of chewing on her lower lip when deep in thought and he had spent more time than he cared to think about watching her do it from his desk. But there was something different about it this time, as if the action had been done with intent rather than a subconscious habit. It was almost as if...

"I've also read that if anything is sacred, it's the female body."

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that it took him a second to realise not only was Emma no longer biting her lip, but that she had spoken and then her words registered. A cascade of memories flashed before him - Emma in a white sundress, her ragged breaths just inches from his lips, the feel of her ponytail wrapped loosely around his hand. She had just quoted Walt Whitman, the same man who had written the poem he recited when he had her pressed against the door of his office. It was one he was familiar with having used it in his sermons when he first joined the priesthood to preach abstinence but to his knowledge Emma wouldn't have known it without researching the poet. And she wouldn't have done that unless...

His gaze darted up from her lips then, eyes narrowing as he took in the overtly pleased and slightly smug expression on her face. She had specifically used a Whitman quote because she was trying to one-up him for the stunt he had pulled last Saturday, his answer to her highlighted Bible challenge. But why? A week ago he wouldn't have questioned it. During the short time he had known her Killian had learned Emma Nolan was just as competitive as he was but that had been before their argument on Sunday, when she had said more than five words to him that wasn't work related. Although, she had been fairly talkative earlier that morning he thought, even going so far as to ask him to put sunscreen on her back. Perhaps this was her way of showing him that she forgave him for taking his anger out on her.

Feeling his own competitive drive rise to the challenge, he schooled his expression into the one Belle always called his 'priest face' and cleared his throat.

"That's an interesting argument, Miss Nolan. Where'd you read something like that?" he asked as nonchalantly as possible. Her answering grin told him he hadn't fooled her one bit.

"It's Walt Whitman, actually," she began, raising a blonde eyebrow. "You haven't heard of him, have you, Father Jones?"

There was something about the way she said those words that made him pause, the thought that had been fluttering at the edge of his self conscious turning into an insistent and loud battering ram. Was she… was Emma Nolan _flirting_ with him? No, that couldn't be he told himself. There had always been an element of flirtation with them of course, it was part of what drew him to the temptation she offered but it was harmless flirting. It was the kind that happened naturally between the opposite sexes, when one or both parties weren't aware they were even doing it and there was no intent for it to go further. But there was something about her words and actions now that spoke of it being anything but innocent. That was preposterous though because why would Emma intentionally flirt with him?

"Emma! Right hand green!"

Pulled from his inner thoughts, Killian looked around their little gaming square to see the only available green circle was directly to her left. It was too far for her to simply cross her right arm behind her and would mean she would need to bring her upper body almost parallel to the ground while maintaining her awkward foot placement, a move that wouldn't be easy. He saw the moment she realised this as well and watched as her mouth thinned in determination. Swaying her upper body back and forth to gain momentum she lifted her right hand off the ground with the intent to reach for her new circle but was only halfway to her mark when gravity tried to overtake her, her weight oddly distributed and forcing her to fall back into her previous position, her right hand miraculously landing on the same circle it had just left.

"Having a problem there, Nolan?" Ruby taunted from her own upside position with a wolfish grin. Emma muttered a few choice words at her friend that would have made a lesser priest blush before attempting the move again. The same issue with gravity occurred again however and she was forced to repeat the motion of trying to reach for the new circle without toppling to the ground over and over again. Not that he was paying any attention to her progress. His eyes were firmly planted on Emma's chest and the way her breasts bounced with each attempt she made, his cock hardening as he imagined them moving like that as he fucked her into his bed with long and powerful thrusts. Before his mind could deter too far into his erotic daydream Emma managed to complete the difficult move, her right hand landing squarely on the green circle and her feet staying on their designated colors.

He couldn't be impressed with Emma's ability to land such a difficult move or the other competitor's groans at her executing it because his attention was once again focused on Emma's breasts and the fact they were literally inches away from his face now.

"Father Jones?"

"Yes?" he answered distractedly. They were so close he could make out the slight bump at the front of her bikini that denoted a hardened nipple and all it would take was a slight movement of his neck to lick at it…

"My eyes are up here."

Shaken from his wandering thoughts by her words, the same ones he had used when she had stumbled into his office to find him shirtless, he turned his head to find Emma looking at him over her right arm, a knowing smirk pulling at her lips again.

"Glad to see you are still enjoying the show," she commented, winking at him before turning her attention to Tink who had called her name from the sidelines.

Blinking in confusion, Killian made it a point to keep his eyes away from the generous sight of Emma's breasts and looked at the ground beneath him. It had been some time since a woman had flirted with him but even he couldn't deny Emma's last little remark and wink were of the flirtatious nature, and most certainly not the innocent kind she had engaged in less than a week go. The wheels in his head started to turn at the thought, going over every interaction they had had that morning and putting her actions under a new light.

And if he didn't know any better, he would swear Emma Nolan was deliberately trying to torture him.

* * *

Leaning back on the sunbathing chair Emma took a sip of her sweet tea and mentally catalogued her results in seducing Father Jones thus far.

Lawn twister had been even more successful than she had initially thought it would be. Not only had she managed to physically interact with him on a new level but she had also pushed the envelope, openly flirting with him and doing nothing to mask her motives as she had earlier in the day. She had even been able to use the Whitman quote she stumbled upon the previous night while searching for quotes from the author she could use on the good Father. It was clear he had caught on somewhat to what she was doing - he may wear the white collar of the priesthood but beneath that he was still a man, after all - but he had said nothing, the tips of his ears continuing to have that pinkish tint to them as he tried to make sense of what she was doing.

After lawn twister - which she had won when Killian unceremoniously fell to the ground after attempting to move his hand to a new circle - he had disappeared for a short time, possibly to gather himself after the assault she had played on his senses during the game. She hadn't worried about him leaving early, knowing the gentleman in him wouldn't do so without a proper goodbye to at least her parents so she had played a few more games with the girls as she bided her time for her next move. They had joined Belle and Henry in a water balloon fight and had then proceeded to chase each other around with the super soakers, inadvertently hitting her father a time or two as he referred the frozen sponge sling shot game. When the humidity and sun started to become unbearable even for someone who had grown up in the South she and the girls had made their way back to the pool, all diving in to cool off. By the time they had gotten out to sunbathe some more Killian had reappeared and she had noticed with more than a passing interest that he didn't come near her.

Not that she was complaining - after all, it gave her the opportunity to admire him from afar.

He was currently standing in the pool next to Robin, red plastic cups in their hands and both of them chatting as Henry splashed around in the deep end with Belle and Anna. He was almost to the halfway point of the pool, the water lapping just above his swim trunks and _hot damn_ what a sight. It wasn't the first time she had admired a shirtless Father Jones that day but there was something extra sinful about the view when he was standing in her pool. His hair was even more disheveled than normal from his initial dip into the refreshing oasis, the front few locks hanging over his forehead with droplets of water slowly dripping from them. There was a pink tinge to his forehead, nose, and the tops of his shoulders from where even the highest grade of sunscreen hadn't fully protected him and she could see the same pinkness starting to form just below his collarbone, a sure sign he needed to reapply to keep from getting burnt. Her eyes traced the unobstructed view of his muscles as he turned more toward Robin, noting the ripple of his abs and the shifting of his biceps, the movements leaving her slightly mesmerized and more than a little turned on. He was down right lickable on a normal day but she absolutely wanted to devour him in his current state and her clit throbbed with approval at the thought.

Then Henry, in his playfulness as a child, sent a large wave of water at his adopted dad and the priest, soaking them yet again and Emma had to catch her cup as it slipped from her hand, cursing quietly as sweet tea sloshed over the lip.

"You okay?" Elsa asked in concern, reaching over a snoring Ruby to hand her a small towel.

"Yeah, I uh- I just lost my grip on the cup there for a second," Emma murmured, taking the towel with a smile of thanks.

Sitting her cup on the ground next to her chair she halfway paid attention to wiping the spilled tea from her hand, her eyes once again on the dark haired man in her pool. He was laughing as Robin chased Henry around the pool and she watched the fresh droplets of water run down his body, following their path into his chest hair and further down as they rolled along the planes of his stomach. Emma licked her lips at the priest who was pure sex and currently glistening with water - oh yeah, she couldn't wait to fuck him and the time for childish flirting was over.

It was time to ramp the seduction up.

* * *

Shutting the bathroom door a little more forcefully than was polite, Killian slung his backpack into the corner and forced himself to take deep breaths as he moved to grip the edge of the sink's countertop, his head hanging low between his shoulders.

She was trying to kill him - plain and simple. Emma Nolan was torturing him to the brink of insanity and she was doing it on _purpose_. He had thought it a possibility while they played lawn twister but he had definitive, irrefutable proof now: the sheriff's daughter was trying to seduce him. Even admitting it to himself in the quiet of the Nolan's bathroom felt surreal, like he had hit his head and awoken in another realm where everything was upside down and what had been black was now white. He still couldn't fully wrap his mind around it, too many jumbled emotions running through him but it was a fact he couldn't ignore now, one he hadn't been able to since they sat down to eat.

_Sitting down toward the end of one of the folding tables beneath the white tent, Killian watched as the rest of the party members made their way over to claim a seat. The few hours after lawn twister had been fairly relaxing for him given that he had put as much distance between himself and Emma as he could. He was certain he had imagined her flirting with him but he still didn't trust himself to be near her, particularly when she seemed to refuse to wear a cover up at any point during the party which left all that skin on display. He hadn't fully been able to ignore her, of course. She was the siren that was trying to lure him to his death but instead of using her voice to do so she was unknowingly using her body and he had found himself staring at her more than once as she lounged by the pool with her friends._

_The Sheriff calling that dinner was ready had been a blessing. It meant he could focus on eating instead of her and then say his goodbyes to retreat to the sanctuary of the church, putting an end to this confusing day. At least he had escaped it without much incident and hadn't made an utter fool of himself._

" _Do you mind if I sit here, Father Jones?"_

_Turning, he saw Emma standing next to the empty seat on his left, blonde hair now braided and still wearing nothing but that skimpy red bikini. He blinked in surprise and barely suppressed the urge to shout "No!", physically having to bite his tongue not to do so. It would have been extremely rude to begin with and then he would have to explain why he reacted so strongly to his employee wanting to sit next to him - and telling everyone he didn't think he could control himself in a sexual manner while sat next to the Sheriff's daughter was not on his list of confessions to make today._

_Clearing his throat he nodded, giving her a strained smile. "I- uh, of course you can, Miss Nolan."_

_Emma smiled in return as she pulled the steel framed chair out. "Thanks. The last thing I want is to be sitting near my dad and Graham as they talk about-"_

_It was at that moment that Ruby, who was sitting on the other side of her friend, misjudged her reach and knocked a cup of ice water over and directly into her own lap. With a fairly loud shriek the brunette jumped up, bumping into Emma in her haste to get away from the icy liquid and sending the blonde stumbling forward. Before he could think about the action Killian brought his hands up to grasp her waist at the same time her right hand shot forward to grip his right shoulder, their faces coming to rest inches apart._

" _You okay?"_

" _Yeah," she replied with a breathless laugh. "At least it wasn't my own klutziness this time."_

" _Well, there's a first time for everything," Tink chuckled from the end of the table, earning her a narrowed glance from Emma._

" _Sorry about that, Em," Ruby apologised, wiping at her wet legs with a towel Elsa had handed her._

" _It's alright, Rubes. Father Jones was here to catch me."_

_Realising he was still holding her waist at her words Killian instantly dropped his hands, praying no one had paid attention to the inappropriate length of time they had remained there. The movement of his arm caused Emma's right hand to fall away from his shoulder but she remained in her bent position and that's when he felt it - a firm and warm pressure resting atop his left thigh. Looking down, he saw Emma's left hand there, her sun kissed skin a stark contrast to the light blue of his swim trunks. His gaze shot back up to find Emma's own eyes moving from where her hand lay to him, both of them clearly taken by surprise at the placement. It was obvious that in a bid to catch herself she had instinctively reached for any part of him that she could to halt her stumble and that was where her left hand had landed._

_Only, she was making no move to remove it._

_Even with the oppressing heat of late afternoon surrounding them he could feel the warmth of her skin through his swim trunks, branding him like a heated iron rod. Her fingers twitched slightly as they lay against his thigh and little answering shocks of electricity shot up from their point of contact with each movement, forcing him to keep his mind from falling into the realm of impossibility where he would imagine what a sensual caress from her on his bare thigh would feel like. Why wasn't she moving her hand? It was one thing to touch him in an intimate way to catch herself from falling - the move was made on instinct and was purely an accident - but keeping it there after the immediate tumble had been avoided was begging for trouble. He knew how quickly gossip spread in a small town like this and had seen many a good priest taken down by vague rumors and misinterpreted remarks and gestures. It was the last thing he wanted to have happen, for her sake as well as his own._

_Shooting a nervous glance around he noted that while an intimate and close setting, no one seemed to be paying attention to the two of them. Belle and Robin, who were sitting on the other side of the folding table, were talking about books Henry might like to read over the summer even as the boy in question thumbed through what looked like a very well loved copy of_ _**Peter Pan** _ _as he sat to his father's right. On the other side of him Regina was turned and conversing with Mrs. Nolan who sat next to her about the upcoming school year agenda. Even Tink who had the clearest shot of Emma's hand on his thigh because of her seat at the end of the table and to his right was none the wiser, her eyes down as she typed on her phone. Everyone else was on the other end of the folding table and too lost in their little bubbles of conversation to notice anything but he knew it would only take one look, one second of someone glancing in their direction to start to question why the Sheriff's daughter still had her hand on the priest's thigh._

_Looking back at Emma he opened his mouth to quietly point out the inappropriateness of the situation - she was probably still in shock at where her hand had landed and had frozen instead of being compelled to move it - but the words died in his throat when his eyes landed on her. Gone was her surprise from a few seconds earlier, replaced with a challenging look and a knowing smirk that filled him with both desire and apprehension. He could see mischief dancing in the emerald depths of her eyes and he knew in that moment she was fully aware anyone could see where her hand was but simply didn't care. His eyes remained locked on hers as one blonde eyebrow rose slowly and before he could even internally ask what was going on he felt the hand on his thigh tighten._

_**Bloody hell.** _ _She had just purposefully squeezed his thigh in the same manner he had imagined groping her ass since that glimpse of red lace when he met her but she didn't stop there. His breath hitched as he felt her hand relax and tighten again before sweeping upward in a sensual caress, those little shocks of electricity igniting the coil of desire in his stomach the higher she slid her hand up his thigh. He was more than a little shocked at the blatant and intimate touch, his heart racing as he tried to comprehend what was going on. His mind screamed at him to stop her before someone noticed but his body was fully in control in that moment, unmoving with his cock already beginning to harden the closer she got to it. She fixed him with that same challenging look, almost daring him to put an end to her actions before she either chose to or was forced to. His heart beat faster as her hand swiped up and inward, the gentle drag of her fingernails along the material of his swim trunks sending a jolt of pleasure straight between his thighs and he had to force his eyes not to roll back in his head at the sensation._

_She was swiping her hand upward again, fingers inches away from his hardening length when her father's voice carried from the pool entrance._

" _Emma, how do you want your steak?"_

_Pausing her hand's movements, she broke eye contact with him to turn her head in the direction her father stood._

" _Well done!" she called out, turning back to him with a smirk on her pink lips. "I like my meat_ _ **firm**_ _, don't you, Father Jones?" she murmured softly so only he could hear, giving his thigh one last sensual squeeze before removing her hand and sitting down, acting as if nothing had happened as she turned to fall into the conversation Ruby and Elsa were having._

Closing his eyes against the memory, Killian fought to regain control of his desire as his cock throbbed almost painfully in his swim trunks.

He had barely listened to the dinner conversation as the Sheriff cooked their steaks to order, half heartedly attributing to it as he tried to calm down and process what had just occurred. It had been clear after that that his earlier speculation during lawn twister had been correct. She had been flirting with him - still was - but what he hadn't understood was _why_. Where had this blatant flirtation come from? More than that, what had she been thinking even flirting with him? It didn't matter that he desired her and wanted nothing more than to find a dark corner to take her in, he was a priest. What could she possibly gain from flirting so openly with him and putting her reputation at risk? It had been a question that plagued him as they ate, the juicy steak and homemade side dishes of macaroni and cheese and mashed potatoes tasteless as he tried to make sense of what had happened.

But that hadn't been the end of his torture.

After everyone had finished eating and the paper plates had been cleared away Mrs. Nolan had handed out ice lollies - or what he had learned Americans called popsicles. They were shaped differently from the ones he had grown up with in England, more cylindrical than square and he had graciously accepted a red one from his host as the post-dinner conversation had turned to the various happenings around town. As he was opening his own a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye had caught his attention and without thinking he had looked toward it, just in time to see Emma lick the entire length of her popsicle. It had taken every bit of willpower he had not to let his jaw drop as he watched her, eyes transfixed on the movement of her tongue as it stroked the popsicle almost sinfully. Remembering the way her tongue had curled at the tip of the popsicle had his cock throbbing again and he whimpered slightly at the sensation. It had been impossible not to imagine her skillfully licking his cock in the same manner, even more so when she had turned to him slightly, locked eyes with him, and sucked a good portion of the frozen treat right into her mouth. He had watched, eyes wide as saucers and lips slightly parted as she hollowed her cheeks, the sight before him and the quiet moan she gave almost making him come on the spot.

On and on the torture had continued after that - Emma running a piece of ice along her neck and collarbone, untying the string of her bikini bottom and lifting the front part so he caught a glimpse of the blonde curls that covered her mound - until he had reached his breaking point. Henry had dropped his book beneath the table and Emma had simply smiled at the boy, scooted her chair back and said she would retrieve it for him. Killian had been half paying attention to the exchange between the blonde and his best friend's adopted son, trying to recenter himself and contribute to the conversation he and Belle were having across the table. He had almost succeeded as well until he felt the unmistakable sensation of a hand sliding up his thigh and under his swim trunks. Jerking backwards and hastily jumping up, so much so that he almost toppled his chair, he was left standing there as everyone turned to look at him in confusion. Realising he had inadvertently drawn attention to himself and the situation he had stammered out that he had forgotten about a call he had to make, church business and all, and had hastily made his way back to the Nolan house.

Which is how he had ended up in his current situation - locked in a member of his church's bathroom after being tortured by their daughter with a raging erection and seriously contemplating taking care of it.

Not that he would. He had resisted this long without giving in to the urge to relieve his pent up sexual frustration when it came to the blonde, he refused to fall down that path of sin now. No matter how much he was tempted to. He still had no idea why Emma had done those things and he couldn't even pretend to lie to himself anymore about what they were. They had been blatant seduction tactics and the more he thought about it, the more he realised the dinner table hadn't been the first time she had done it. He had come to the conclusion somewhere between her licking the ice lolly and her trying to run her hand up his swim trunks that her actions during lawn twister had been of the same nature but looking even further back, he could clearly see that her request for him to rub sunscreen on her had also been her purposefully trying to seduce him. What else could it have been under the light of what she had been doing for the last forty-five minutes?

He clenched his jaw in frustration. He didn't know what had bought this on but he knew he needed to extract himself from the situation before his control snapped. The Nolans had plans to shoot fireworks off in celebration of the holiday but he couldn't run the risk of Emma continuing her little game because there was only so many excuses he could give to keep coming back inside the house before someone got suspicious. He needed to leave….

"I'll be right back, mom! I'm just grabbing a cover up for later!"

His entire body stilled at the sound of Emma's voice right outside the bathroom door. _Bloody hell!_ He was trying to do the right thing by not giving temptation a way in and yet the entire universe seemed to be working against him by constantly throwing the object of his desire right into his path. Seeing her right now would be the worst thing that could happen to him. He could feel his control was on the perceive of snapping and he knew if he looked at her again before he got himself under control, all he would see was that blue ice lolly sliding between those pink lips and he couldn't guarantee he wouldn't act on his desires, not with how tight his nerves were strung. Holding his breath, heart beating loudly in his ears, he waited until he heard the sound of her retreating before he moved.

Yes, he had to get out of here. _Now._

Picking up his backpack that he had carelessly tossed in the corner on his way into the bathroom, he quickly pulled his clothes out and began to change. Once redressed in his black dress pants and shirt - he didn't bother to do any of the buttons up on it, wanting to get out of the house as quickly as possible - he stuffed his swim trunks into the bag and sending a silent prayer up that the coast was clear, opened the bathroom door. Apparently someone upstairs was listening because the lower level of the house was blessedly silent, the sounds of the continuing party from outside drifting in through the sliding glass door Emma must have left open as she entered the house. Quickly making his way to the kitchen he scribbled a note on some stationary the Nolans had hanging on the fridge, giving his apologies for disappearing before the party had officially ended but a church matter had arose and he needed to leave. It wasn't how he liked to leave - it was slightly bad form to not verbally say your good-byes when you were an invited guest of a party - but he figured the Nolans would forgive him this small transgression in the long run. Not wanting to linger longer than was necessary incase Emma reappeared he made his way to the front door and upon opening it, instantly stopped in his tracks as he did so.

Emma stood leaning against one of the white pillars that supported the roof of her home's front porch, still clad in nothing but that tiny bikini with her arms crossed and a blonde eyebrow raised in his direction.

"Going somewhere, Father?"

For a second he contemplated trying to brush his obvious escape off, maybe even dash past her or just simply turn around and pray the rest of the party was uneventful but he could hear the challenge in her voice, almost goading him to do just that and he felt his anger spike sharply. No, he wouldn't slink away, not after what she had put him through today. _This is a bad idea, little brother._ Ignoring the voice of reason in his head he stepped further onto the porch, shutting the door behind him and dropping his backpack as he pointed an accusing finger at the blonde vixen.

"Just what in the bloody hell do you think you are doing, Miss Nolan?"

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked innocently which only made his anger grow.

"Don't play that coy game with me," he growled, stepping closer to her. "You know exactly what you've been doing all day - the flirting, the teasing. What in heaven or hell were you thinking?"

"Please," Emma muttered with an eye roll. "Don't act like you didn't enjoy it."

"I-" Well she had him there, technically. "I did not."

Raising her eyebrow at him again she pushed off the pillar, taking slow and measured steps to close the distance between them and he tried to ignore the extra sway of her hips. "Lying is a sin, Father. I think we established earlier during lawn twister you _very_ much enjoy a good show." Stopping inches in front of him she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. "Did you enjoy watching that popsicle disappear down my throat? Did you wish it was your cock instead?"

Killian jerked back, shocked to hear such crass wording coming from her. What had gotten into her today? "Miss Nolan!"

"Oh don't act so shocked," she started, reaching for him. He stepped back quickly, his hands coming up to keep distance between them.

"I know you might not care about using such words or how that little display could have looked to others but I do. You have no idea how quickly a rumor can start from one false assumption."

"Screw what everyone else thinks," Emma hissed, her hands dropping and fisting at her sides. "I know more about how false assumptions can hurt a person than you will _ever_ know."

"Obviously not or you never would have done the things you did today!" Killian snapped, his anger rising more and more. Couldn't she see the potential danger she had put them both in?

"Don't act so self righteous, _Father_. You enjoyed every minute of everything I did today, just as you enjoyed that text conversation you claimed was all my fault."

Killian paused momentarily at her words. "I never meant-"

"Never meant to what? To be an ass? To scold me like a child for something that was just as much your fault as it was mine?"

"No, and I apologise for that."

"Do you know the really messed up part?" she continued, ignoring his words. "Is the fact that you're so angry right now, just as you were then, because you want me."

Killian's eyes widened. "I- I don't want you." It was a lie, of course. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted another woman in his entire life but he couldn't tell her that. What would admitting it out loud do for either of them?

Emma huffed. "Could have fooled me. It's been awhile but even I know the feeling of a hard cock when it's pressed against my ass, Father Jones."

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking rapidly. He was trying to control his temper but she was making it almost impossible. "You were bloody torturing me on purpose, Miss Nolan. I'm a man, not a Saint. Of course my body reacted to what you were doing!"

"Your body reacted because it's what _you_ want," Emma growled, stepping closer to him. "Deny it. Say you've never contemplated what it would be like to fuck me, to take me on every surface of your office until I was screaming your name."

"No!" Killian's eyes darted around the Nolan's front yard to make sure no one was within earshot of them. It didn't if he had thought of such things - because God knew he had - but this was a conversation they could not have, especially here. "Bloody hell, lass! You shouldn't say such things, especially to your priest!"

"You know I don't practice the Catholic faith but if confession is what you want I can give it to you. Cleanses the soul, right?"

"Emma-"

"I want you," she barrelled on, ignoring his strained plea. All it would take was one person from the party coming to look for them and to overhear the conversation and instantly assume the wrong thing.

"Just stop talking before someone hears you," he hissed, his temper spiking. He had been riled up all day because of this bloody woman to the point he couldn't think straight and his control was a thread away from snapping. This was why he needed to get out of there. He knew encountering her again would be bad and he needed to go...

"Hear what? How I've awoken every morning wet and wanting you? How I've gotten myself off to images of you and how I want a priest's cock-"

Growling low in his chest, the last of his patience and self restraint snapping, he surged forward at her words, hands coming up to grasp the sides of her face as he crashed his lips to hers. He had intended to kiss her only to shut her up before someone heard her but the second their lips touched the coil of desire that had been tightening all day - since they met, really - exploded. Letting his right hand tangle in her blonde locks and not caring that he was messing up her braid, he dropped his left arm to the small of her back and yanked her lithe body against his, swallowing her moan of appreciation as his lips opened over hers. His tongue instantly moved into the warmth of her mouth, his own groan lost between them as her tongue curled around his at the same moment her left arm wrapped around his waist beneath his open shirt, her right hand gripping the back of his neck hard enough for her nails to leave little crescent moons in the skin there. The urge to possess and claim her rose sharply within him and before he could think about his actions he began to walk her backwards at a steady and confident pace until her back hit the pillar she had been leaning against moments ago, his hips instantly pinning her to the white surface.

To say he was overwhelmed would be an understatement. Her lips were just as soft as he had imagined they would be as they moved against his own, equally as hungry for what he was offering her with the glide of his tongue and her answering with a nip of her teeth. The scent of flowers and sunscreen overpowered his senses, filling his nostrils until the smell of pine and freshly cut grass was replaced by it and branded into his very bones to forever remain there just as the smell of the ocean had done in his youth. The humidity of the late afternoon around them gave way to the heat emitting from their joined lips, making him hotter than even the hottest Summer day and sending shocks of electricity down his spine.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew this was wrong but he couldn't hear the voice of reason over the roaring in his ears and the desire that clouded his mind, every sense focused on the woman in front of him and the way she willingly let him tilt her head to deepen the kiss further. She had been playing with him all day, building and building his desire up and there was no way he could stop it now. His skin was on fire where she touched him, branding him in her own way first at the small of his back and then across his chest as her left hand roamed almost frantically, the slight scratch of her nails through his chest hair causing his hips to jerk involuntarily and her to moan in response. That was truly what he couldn't get enough of - the sounds she made, every moan and gasp, whimper and breathy sigh and he needed to hear more of it.

Reaching down he hiked her left leg up around his waist, not even bothering to swallow her gasp of surprise as his hardened length found her clothed center and began to rut against it, his own grunt loud at the familiar yet foreign sensation. He could feel the heat of her through her bikini bottom and every instinct told him to seek it out but he couldn't stop the movement of his hips to do so, his desire taking over and focusing on reaching that high he had deprived himself of for the last eight years.

" _Fuck_!" Emma gasped, wrenching her mouth from his to gulp down air on a particularly hard roll of his hips and his mouth instantly descended to her shoulder. Impatiently nosing the strap of her barely there top down her arm he sucked and laved at the portion of her skin that had been untouched by the day's sun, the primal need to mark her causing his hips to increase their speed as his right hand moved from her hair to squeeze her ass almost possessively.

"Yes… right- ah! Right there," she breathed in his ear, her own teeth nipping at his neck.

He could feel his impending orgasm building fast, licking at the base of his spine as his cock throbbed. He knew he wouldn't last much longer, not with how long it had been since he allowed himself this but he wanted to hear her fall as well - he _needed_ to hear it. Moving his right hand around and up her body he jerked the piece of fabric covering her breast to the side, molding the round globe in his hand before rolling her nipple between his thumb and index finger. He felt her hips jerk against him as he did it, her whimper of pleasure going straight to his cock and he changed the rhythm of his hips, rutting into her hard instead of simply rolling his hips.

" _Shit_ … I-I'm gonna…"

Her thigh began to tremble in his hand and he knew she was on the cusp of her own release. Three hard ruts of his hips and a tug to her nipple and he felt her arch against the pillar, her breath catching as her orgasm washed over her and both hands gripped his hair like her life depended on it. He followed a few seconds later, hips jerking mindlessly into her warm and wet center when his own release shot up his spine, the coil of desire she had been working up all day uncurling like a party streamer and he sank his teeth into her shoulder as white bursts of light exploded behind his closed eyes. It wasn't his first orgasm, not by a long shot, but he'd be damned if it didn't feel like the first all over again, his mind going momentarily blank as wave after wave of pure and unbridled pleasure coursed through his entire body as he spilled his release into his boxers. His knees threatened to buckle under the sensation and he had to let go of Emma's breast to grasp the pillar behind her to keep from sending both of them tumbling to the porch below. As the final wave crested he removed his teeth from her sun-kissed skin, his tongue soothing the mark he had worked there and he sighed in bliss.

And then reality crashed around him like a cold bucket of water.

His eyes flew open and a strangled sound escaped his throat as the fog of desire lifted from his mind and his actions and where they were became clear. _Mary and Joseph, what he had done?!_ He instantly jerked away from her, her leg falling to the porch as he scrambled backwards. He took her in with wide and horrified eyes - the sated green of her eyes, her hair half undone from its braid, her legs fighting to keep her righted, chest rising and falling as she came down from her own high with one milky white breast exposed - and he felt himself shake not with desire, but guilt.

_Christ almighty, he had just brought them both to completion on her front porch and in broad daylight for anyone to see!_

"I-"

He couldn't finish the thought though, guilt rising like bile in his throat and without another word he turned, picked up his backpack, and fled.

* * *

Emma watched the dark haired priest leave, her own mind clearing of the fog of desire his kiss had ignited. That had been the last thing she had expected to happen when she had decided to seduce him - getting him to admit he wanted her, maybe even a kiss, sure - but she wasn't going to complain. Not when the memory of his hardened length pressed against her was still fresh in her mind and her limbs felt like jelly after that intense orgasm. If the good Father wanted to dry hump her to completion, she was perfectly fine with that.

Moving her arm sluggishly she righted her bikini top to cover herself again, trying to take stock of how she looked and what she'd need to fix before going back to the party. It was a miracle no one had come looking for them but she knew it would only be a matter of time before too attentive Graham came searching for her - best not to look like she was just dry humped by a priest. Pulling her strap back up she looked down at the mark Father Jones had left behind in the heat of the moment - she was definitely going to need a cover up now - and she bit her lip at the memory, her skin still tingling everywhere he had touched her.

She had followed him into the house from outside with every intention not to hide her motives behind innocent touches and coded words - she wanted him, and she was done playing games to get him. It was why she had come on so strongly during their conversation, pushing at him over and over again although she hadn't expected it to be _that_ rewarding. She knew he was still fighting what was between them. That was apparent by his abrupt and hasty departure but his actions had shown her he was more than willing to fall from grace with the right motivation, and she fully planned on giving it to him.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw his hurrying form disappear around the bend of trees that hid the Nolan house from the main road and she smiled.

This was going to be _so_ much fun.


	10. Honest Sinners & Lying Hypocrites

 

Bracing one hand on the glass shower door and his other on the faded blue tile to his right, Killian dipped his head under the hot spray and closed his eyes as the almost scalding water rolled down his neck and back, soothing the ache of knotted and overexerted muscles.

Two days. It had been two days since the Nolan's barbecue, almost forty-eight hours since he had so easily tossed aside his vows and found the release his body had been begging for in the cradle of Emma's thighs. He hadn't completely broken his vows - they hadn't had sex, no, but what he had done was more than enough to cause a fracture in the sacred promises he had made to God all those years ago. That was what sin did, after all. It wormed its way into the soul like the snake that had slithered into the Garden of Eden, pushing and testing until you gave in - just one moment of weakness where the sin looked as appetising as the apple Eve had been tempted with. Once it gained a firm hold on the soul it was relentless, continuously seducing with the promise of pleasure it had given and advocated for just one more taste, one more time until the sin had fully consumed the person and they were drowning in it.

And bloody hell was he drowning.

After their transgression he'd made a hasty departure from the Nolan's residence and ran the entire way back to the church, lungs burning and sweat pouring down his body, not caring what the residents of Storybrooke thought as they saw their priest dashing down the street like a madman. Once within the sacred walls of the church he had dropped to his knees in front of the altar and fervently prayed until the sound of fireworks reached him, the night sky through the church's windows colored in brilliant shades of blue, red, and green as they erupted. But no amount of prayer could save him. He'd laid awake that night, freshly showered and his mind playing that moment with Emma over and over again, recalling how her gasps of pleasure had tasted and the feel of her skin beneath his palms. Every detail was vivid, every sensation causing goosebumps to break out along his skin despite the night's humidity and the voice… The voice of sin had whispered in his ear just as Emma had earlier that day, promising peace if he just let go. _Just this once, Father._

Killian's right hand clenched against the light blue tile as he remembered giving into it - of how he had brought himself to completion in the darkness of his room, gasping and grunting as his hips thrust into his hand in a way they hadn't done in years, flashes of sun kissed skin covered in red and green eyes filled with desire causing him to spill his release onto his stomach. All the while his left hand had tightly gripped his rosary until the beads left an indention in his palm, a reminder of the vows he had once again forsaken just as his drying essence was a mark of the sin he had allowed into his soul. He had somehow made it through Mass the next morning, preaching a message of loving your neighbor even as his mind remained disoriented. He had purposefully been absent from the church that evening, throwing himself into visiting the local shelter and orphanage so he was nowhere near Emma while she was working.

Because he knew now, more than ever, that he couldn't control his desire when he was alone with her.

Killian scrubbed at his face with his right hand. _God, what he had been thinking?_ Kissing her, even to stop someone from over hearing her had been a poor decision and what had happened afterward… He choked on the bile rising in his throat even as his body responded to the memory. He didn't know what was worse - the fact that they had essentially dry humped each other to completion or the fact they had done so where anyone could have stumbled upon them. For all he knew, someone _had_ seen them. The Nolan property might have sat away from the main residential road but the houses across the street were visible through the treeline and their neighbors on either side had to only look over at the right moment to see them. It could have been someone simply walking up the road...

The thought had plagued him constantly since their discretion and on top of everything else he had spent the last few days on edge that the parishioner walking toward him was going to reveal they had seen him and the sheriff's daughter in their scandalous position. No one had, yet, but the fear still resided in the back of his mind. Storybrooke may not have been his first choice of a place to put down roots but he had come to like the small town and the thought of having to leave it because of one moment of weakness churned his stomach. More than that, Belle had found peace here that she had been unable to find in England or Australia and the shadow of what she had endured for years seemed to have finally lifted from her eyes. She wouldn't stay here if he was gone, not with him being her last living relative and he would never forgive himself if he was the reason she lost the peace she had sought for so long.

And Robin… The dynamic of their friendship may have changed with Killian taking his vows but it was still a friendship he cherished, one born years ago and he hadn't realised just how much he missed his best friend until they were in the same town again. Robin had found his happy ending here as well, had the family he always wanted and thought lost to him when Marian had died - if anyone had seen him or Emma on Saturday, it would affect Robin just as much. Killian had lived in Storybrooke long enough to know how quickly gossip flew and how the townspeople, while charming and hospitable, were quick to look at guilt by association when it came to a scandal.

And the priest and the sheriff's daughter in a sexual act was the very definition of a small town scandal.

Intellectually he knew that and was appalled he had even let it happen, especially when he thought of how it could affect Belle and Robin but he couldn't stop thinking about what they had done. He had tried, God how he had tried. He prayed every free moment available to him over the past two days and buried his nose in the pages of his Bible when not hearing confession but none of it helped. Now that he had tasted the sin he was torn between what he wanted and what God required of him to continue his amends for Liam's death. He truly wanted to repent, to reaffirm himself to his sacred vows and abolish the sin that had taken root in his very bones but he couldn't stop thinking about her either. She had plagued his dreams and thoughts since the day he had met her but now… Now he knew what her kiss tasted like, how the heat of her felt against him and the ease with which her body responded to his touch. It was intoxicating and consumed his mind, leaving him hot and hard until he had no choice but to give into the sin again and again.

_Just once more._

Which is exactly where he found himself now - in the shower, his muscles aching from the hard run he had put himself through not half an hour ago with his cock red and swollen, begging for release. He tried to resist, tried to let the heat of the shower distract him but it was like a cup that had been cracked. Once the crack was there the cup couldn't hold water anymore, no matter how much it wanted to. _One more time,_ the voice whispered, _one last time._ He knew even as he gripped himself with his right hand, his gasp at the sensation of skin moving along skin lost in the pounding of the shower that this was wrong. He was a man drowning who refused to push the tumbler away no matter how bad the drink was for him, not when he knew the pleasurable burn that would come from just one more sip.

He let himself get lost in the movement of his hand, eyes closing as the memory of having Emma pinned to the pillar washed over him and his grip tightened just a little when he recalled how her breast had felt in his hand. He could almost imagine that the hot water cascading down his front was the same wetness he would find between those creamy thighs and his breath hitched as his thumb swirled around the tip of his cock, his hips thrusting forward to chase the sensation. He envisioned taking her in every position, the images coming in a series of flashes - atop her, beneath her, behind her, beside her - and the sound of slapping skin and his grunts echoed in the small bathroom. Coming with a gasping breath his entire body tensed, his mind going momentarily blank with pleasure as his release landed on the porcelain tub beneath his feet to be washed away like the dirty sin it was.

As the overwhelming guilt that was trying to choke him mixed with the sated sensation coursing through his veins Killian sighed, his eyes closing and forehead falling to the fogged glass door.

He needed a voice of reason, someone to clear his muddled and conflicting thoughts... and he knew just who to turn to.

* * *

Cursing as her computer froze yet again while she had been in the middle of inputting paperwork, Emma smacked the newly upgraded monitor before leaning back in her chair and huffing in annoyance.

This was the tenth time in a week - fourth that morning alone - the damn program had frozen on her and she was beginning to understand why Leory was always threatening to shoot the computers. She wasn't even supposed to be dealing with the blasted thing today. Normally she wasn't on duty at the police station Monday mornings but her father had asked her the night before to cover for him since Regina had called a meeting with him about some teenagers that had vandalized the local cemetery over the holiday weekend, particularly a wealthy family's vault. She had been more than happy to do it though and help Graham with the post-holiday rucas that always came after the Fourth of July celebration, even if it did mean getting up at an ungodly hour on her morning off and fighting with a useless computer program.

At least she had the memory of what had transpired between her and Father Jones on Saturday to keep her company she thought, reaching down to reset the computer as a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

 _God it had been amazing._ She had spent the last few weeks dreaming about what it would be like to have his body pressed against her own and it paled in comparison to the real thing. His kiss alone had set her blood on fire but the way he had gripped her thigh and marked her with his mouth had completely made her universe explode, weeks of pent up sexual frustration calmed only by her own hand igniting and sending her desire soaring to heights it had never reached before. It had been a huge risk for it to happen on the front porch where anyone could have walked by and seen them, she knew that, but she honestly couldn't say she regretted it. With the way they had been circling each other since they met it was only a matter of time before the tension snapped and they gave in to the obvious desire running between them.

And if Emma had her way that tension would snap again - multiple times.

After watching Father Jones disappear she had retrieved her cover up and rejoined the party, trying her damnedest not to look like she had just had one of the best orgasms of her life without losing a shred of clothing. There had been a moment as she retook her seat at the table however that Ruby, ever the perceptive one of their group, had given her a long look like the brunette somehow knew of the scandalous tryst Emma had just participated in but it was gone in the blink of an eye and the party resumed as if that stolen moment had never happened. The rest of the barbecue had been a blur - more swimming and poolside lounging, the fireworks display her father always took pride in - and the day had ended with her and the girls getting more than a little drunk in her room as the three people closest to her grilled her yet again about her possible relationship with Graham.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear that had come loose from her ponytail, Emma sighed. Side stepping her well-intentioned friends who were pushing her to go on a date with Graham wasn't the most pressing problem she had to figure out, however. She knew she couldn't avoid their persistent questions of _'why don't you just date him?'_ forever, particularly the ones coming from Ruby, but Emma's focus was solely on figuring out how to deal with a priest she wanted to fuck who was currently avoiding her like the Black Plague.

Father Jones's absence from the church the previous day hadn't gone unnoticed by her. In fact, she had been expecting it and wasn't surprised one bit when she showed up for her afternoon shift to find the priest nowhere in sight. One of the choir members had told her that he had taken off just before her arrival to supposedly spend some time at the orphanage and bring spiritual guidance to the children but she knew that was a lie. Killian was avoiding her, plain and simple. She had briefly debated just showing up and catching him off guard, perhaps even finding another opportunity to further seduce him but the memory of how he had run after their moment on her parent's front porch had kept her in the humid church. He clearly needed room to think after what happened and although her desire to have him had only grown since feeling his hard length pressed against her core, she could give him space to breath and come to terms with what was going on between them.

Because despite her resolve to get the priest in bed Emma knew it would take more than a skimpy bikini and suggestively sucking on a popsicle to do so. He may not have always worn the white collar but there was a reason he had taken those vows and maintained them for eight years, that wasn't something she was going to break down over night. The barbecue had been a stepping stone in the right direction but it was by no means the final step before they dived into the lake of no return.

The fact that she no longer felt any guilt about going after a priest didn't bother her and was one she had come to terms with somewhere between realising he wanted her and actually seducing him. It wasn't his title that attracted her - although the forbidden aspect did turn her on - but it was what she saw behind the white collar that motivated her to go after him. There was something about Father Jones that intrigued and scared her, a darkness to his blue eyes that spoke to her own battered soul and drew her in more than his good looks ever could. That was why she wanted him - the undeniable hot body that lay beneath his priest's robes was just a bonus.

"Special delivery!"

Pulled from her thoughts, Emma looked up to see Graham strolling into the station holding a cup holder with two styrofoam cups that had the well-known logo for Granny's Diner on their sides. Grinning widely Emma moved the stack of backdated case files she had been trying to input into the system out of the way.

"Oh, thank God."

Graham chuckled as he sat the cup holder onto the cleared area of her desk. "I figured you were in need of a caffeine refill by this point in the morning."

"You thought correctly," Emma agreed, reaching for the to-go cup with the black lid knowing Granny used white lids for the hot tea she had kept in stock since Graham had moved to Storybrooke. Flipping the drinking tab up she inhaled the scent of fresh coffee and moaned softly. "I love my father but the coffee machine here makes some of the most vile coffee I've ever tasted."

Laughing, Graham grabbed his cup and tossed the cup holder in the trash bin before moving to sit at his desk that was across from her own. "No argument from me on that one. It's never been the same since Leroy tried to run beer through it."

Emma paused with the coffee cup halfway to her lips. "Seriously?" she asked, both eyebrows rising in disbelief.

Graham nodded as he blew on his tea. "He was a bit hungover from one of his brother's birthday parties, Harold if I remember correctly. Thought he was pouring water into the machine when in reality it was a six pack he had brought instead of his lunch."

Emma stared at the Irishman. "You're making that up."

"I wish I was! You're father put him on over night patrols for a week afterward - half because he came in with a hangover and half because Dave was the poor unsuspecting victim who got a taste of coffee laced beer."

Emma snorted before taking a sip of her coffee, relishing the taste of dark roast mixed with a hint of creamer and thankful Granny knew how she took her coffee. "Why didn't dad just replace it?"

Graham grinned. "Why replace it when Granny's is right up the road and makes the best coffee in town?"

 _Well she couldn't argue with that._ Chuckling, Emma continued to sip her coffee as her gaze moved from the rebooting screen of her computer to Graham. With their conversation ended she began to notice him becoming a bit restless, unable to keep his hands still and constantly repositioning himself in his chair. She watched him take three quick sips of his tea before briefly rifling through the paperwork on his desk only to abandon it within seconds and pick his cup up again. It was odd behavior, for sure, especially from the usually confident Graham. Thinking back, he had been just as fidgety earlier that morning before going on patrol - knocking his tea over when she had walked in, wearing a path in the floor between his desk and the filing cabinet, opening and closing the same case file a dozen times. He was unsure, almost nervous about something….

"How was patrol?" she asked suddenly, wanting to fill the silence between them and hopefully calm his nerves from whatever had sent them into overdrive.

"Boring," Graham replied, setting his cup down and reaching for a pencil from his cup holder. "I saw Scarlet out and about near the drugstore and he already looks like he's three sheets to the wind."

"Of course he was," Emma grumbled as Graham inserted the writing utensil into the sharpener on his desk, the machine's whirling engine loud in the otherwise quiet station.

"How was paperwork?"

Emma huffed as she gave the tower unit beneath her desk a gentle kick. "Program froze, _again._ Not just once either. I also had to inform Miss Shoemaker that the police were not in charge of keeping her neighbor's flowers off her lawn for the third time this month."

Graham chuckled, continuing to sharpen the pencil despite the fact Emma was certain it was more than sharp enough by now. He really did seem nervous, like he was trying to work up the courage to say something but was falling short of actually getting it out.

Frowning, she asked, "Is everything okay, Graham?"

"Hm?" he answered distractedly before looking up at her. "Yeah, why wouldn't it be?"

The whirling of the pencil sharpener ceased instantly and she watched Graham extract the pencil, blinking as if he was just realising he had sharpened the writing instrument to half its starting length. Setting the slightly too short to write with pencil to the side he clasped his hands together atop his desk.

"There, ah-" Pausing to clear his throat he continued, "There is something on my mind."

"What's going on?"

Their friendship was still fairly new, having only really developed over the last few weeks but she had known him for over half of her life and hated the thought that something was bothering him. She couldn't imagine what it would be though. From what she knew Graham lead a fairly simple and drama-free life, one of the few Storybrooke residents to do so and was respected and loved by almost everyone - except perhaps Gold, but the old pawnshop owner didn't like anyone as a general rule of thumb.

"We've known each other a long time."

It was a fact but he presented it more as a question and it caused Emma's brows to knit in confusion. "Yeah… about fourteen years I believe. But I don't-"

"And in that time a lot has changed. _We've_ changed."

More confused than ever, Emma simply nodded. _Where was he going with this?_

"And with change comes… realizations, things you may not have noticed before but you can't deny once you admit them to yourself."

Emma shook her head, the way Graham's right index finger tapped against his hand nervously not going unnoticed by her.

"Graham-"

"You've changed." Upon seeing the clear bewilderment on her face Graham cleared his throat again. "That's not- I didn't mean for it to come out like that. None of this is going how I want it to…."

Trailing off Graham paused for a brief moment, clearly trying to focus his jumbled thoughts into a coherent line of thinking before sighing heavily and looking directly at her.

"I know your mom told you that I spoke with her… about me being interested in you romantically."

"Oh." _Oh._ Emma kept her face expressionless but her hand tightened around her styrofoam cup, letting the warmth of its contents seep into her palm. Well this explained why Graham had been out of sorts all morning. He probably felt weird knowing she knew and just wanted to clear the air between them, possibly even wave the entire thing off as her mother looking for a romance where there wasn't one. "She might have mentioned something about it last week," she replied, taking a long sip of her coffee.

Graham chuckled, his nerves seeming to have disappeared for the moment. "I imagine it must have come as a bit of a shock."

Emma smiled softly at her coworker. "More than a little, I have to admit. I didn't realize you saw me… in that way."

"I haven't always," Graham admitted, reaching for his own cup and playing with the drinking tab. "I honestly never saw you as more than Dave's daughter until you came back to town this last time and it just sort of struck me."

"What did?"

"That you had become quite the beautiful woman."

Emma let out a small, embarrassed laugh at the Irishman's words and suddenly found the top of her cup the most interesting thing in the room. God, what she wouldn't have given to hear him say those words to her when she was fourteen! But now… now they didn't cause butterflies to take flight in her stomach or for her heart to skip a beat - they were just words. It was words she hadn't heard since the early days of her and Walsh dating and it was flattering, but he wasn't the man she wanted to hear those words from.

"I swear I'm not laughing _at_ you, Graham," she said once her nervous laugh had subsided and she had looked back up at him, "It's just been a _really_ long time since a guy other than my father said that."

Graham nodded in understanding and seemed to breath a little easier with her words. "You should be told that every day."

Emma hummed in response, feeling another embarrassed laugh forming in her throat. As she went to take another sip of her coffee to stifle it something he had said earlier echoed back to her and she paused the movement of her cup, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"How did you know my mother had told me?"

"Oh, she called me the day before the barbecue."

The bottom of the coffee cup connected to her desk and Emma groaned, letting her head fall into her free hand. _She was going to kill her mother._ She knew her mother had never approved of her love life - or lack thereof - but this level of meddling was going too far for even Mary Margaret Nolan. Hadn't she told her mother she would think about it? It didn't matter that she actually _hadn't_ thought about it, what with being busy seducing a priest and all, but her mother had ignored her anyway and went straight to Graham two days after their conversation. Her mother was the epitome of hope and Emma didn't even want to think about all the false hope she had spewed to him.

_Really, the nerve of the woman…_

"Emma?"

Raising her head from her hand she saw Graham staring at her expectantly and Emma blinked in confusion.

"What? Sorry, I was lost in thought about how I could murder my mother and get away with it."

Graham chuckled. "An understandable action. I said that's why I wanted to ask you if you would go on a date with me this Saturday."

Emma felt her eyes widen and she was almost certain her jaw dropped in surprise. This was not where she had anticipated their conversation to go. She had thought he was just trying to clear the air a few minutes ago, maybe laugh off what her mother had told her and throw her a few kind remarks to see where she stood but actually asking her out on a _date_? That she had not been expecting - at all.

"I, uh-"

"Nothing serious, of course. Just a casual date to see if there's anything between us," Graham supplied, leaning his arms on his desk and uncurling a paper clip he must have grabbed while she was cursing her mother to the high heavens.

"I-"

 _God what was her life?_ Fourteen years ago she would have jumped at the chance to go on a date with Graham but now she found herself scrambling to come up with a reason why she couldn't. It wasn't that she was against getting into another relationship, she just simply didn't want to be in one right now. It was why she had told her mother she would think about it, give herself time to fall back into Storybrooke's way of life and get on her own feet before adding the complication of a relationship to the table because relationships were _always_ complicated, especially hers. The simple fact was when presented with the opportunity she didn't want to take it, especially not when she was so close to getting Father Jones into bed.

And that was the crux of it all - she wanted Father Jones, not Graham.

It wasn't that she found Graham unattractive - he was still as ruggedly handsome as he had been when she had a crush on him, even more so with age - but he didn't send her desire into overdrive like Killian did. Simply glancing at him didn't make her thighs clench with want and the innocent brush of his fingers along her arm had never set her blood on fire or goosebumps erupting in their wake. She had never daydreamed about all the wicked things he could do between her thighs with his tongue or riding him until they were both a heaving mass of gasping breaths and unable to walk properly.

No, she had never felt any of that for Graham, even when she did have a teenage crush on him and she respected him too much as a friend and human being to lead him on more than she already had with her little stunt at the barbecue on Saturday.

"Graham," she began, giving him her most comforting smile, "I'm flattered, really, but…"

"You're going to have to say no," he finished, his blue eyes losing their sparkle of hope as he gave her a smile of understanding in return.

"Yeah," she sighed, feeling horrible for having to let him down when he had put himself out there like that. "It's just… I'm still adjusting and finding my way now that I'm back home and I don't want to throw a budding relationship into that mix until I've got everything sorted." Grimacing she added, "Is that as lame of an excuse as it sounded?"

Chuckling, Graham shook his head. "Not at all. I completely understand where you are coming from and you don't have to worry, this won't affect our friendship or working relationship in any way."

"Yeah?" Emma asked, hopeful. She may not want to date Graham but the last thing she wanted to do was lose him as a friend and coworker.

Graham nodded. "Really, Emma. I may want to take you out and show you what it's like to be courted by someone who isn't a loser but I also respect the fact you aren't ready for that yet."

"You're a good man, Graham," she said, smiling. And she meant it - she had known her fair share of guys who would have gotten angry over a rejection but here he was, being completely understanding and showing he wasn't going to push her into anything. Whoever Graham ended up with was going to be a lucky woman.

"I try," he replied cheekily, picking up a stack of folders off his desk and heading toward the filing cabinets. "Just know the offer still stands for whenever you are ready."

That gave her pause. _Shit._ She had hoped turning his offer down would mean he dropped the idea of them dating altogether but thinking back to her answer, she could see where she had qlaringly went wrong. Instead of softly hinting that she could never see herself dating him without going into the cliche 'I only see you as a friend' territory, she had inadvertently given him false hope by giving an answer that screamed 'not right now, but perhaps one day.'

Before she could open her mouth to try to correct her mistake - because she didn't want him waiting around for her when she clearly had no intention of ever going down that path with him - Graham's cell phone rang. Depositing the stack of folders on top of the filing cabinets he dug the old and battered flip phone out of his pants pocket.

"Humbert."

Emma sipped at her coffee, leg bouncing impatiently as she waited for Graham to hang up so she nix the possibility of them ever being more than friends in the Irishman's mind. However, one look at his face told her rectifying her answer was going to have to wait.

"We'll be right there, Mrs. Boyd."

Snapping his phone closed, Graham quickly moved toward his desk to grab the keys to the patrol car.

"That was Ashley's mom. She was visiting her mother's grave when she spotted some teenagers over by the Mills family vault with spray paint. Seems the vandals from this past weekend are back at it."

Downing the rest of her coffee in one gulp Emma reached into her desk drawer for her handcuffs and gun, strapping the weapon into her hip holster as she stood. Her muddled personal problem was going to have to go on the back burner for now - she had work to do.

* * *

Glancing at the time on his laptop Killian sighed, noting that he had about thirty more minutes until Emma came in for her afternoon shift.

He had returned to the church after meeting Belle for breakfast feeling like a new man, the conversation with his sister grounding him in a way no amount of prayer had since Saturday. He hadn't divulged the true reason behind his need to seek her counsel but she had picked up on his crisis of faith rather quickly and in her own way brought him back to the light. In talking with her Killian had been reminded of how important it was that he remain faithful to God and his vows, no matter how tempting the sin was. And the Lord knew he had been tempted. He had fallen onto the path of sin he had been so careful to avoid for almost a month now but he didn't have to remain there. He could fix this - he could right his wrongful path and reaffirm himself to his vows and forget any of this had happened.

Liam had always said that a real man faced his problems, that no matter how hard it was you didn't run from them so on the walk back from Granny's, strengthened by his talk with Belle and his own conviction to remain faithful, he had made a decision. He would no longer actively avoid Emma by making himself scarce when he knew she was going to be at the church. By outright avoiding her he was giving temptation a foothold onto his soul and if he was ever going to defeat it that had to stop. There were plenty of other rooms in the church he could use to work on his sermons so he didn't have to be in his office alone with her.

That he knew could not happen again.

The incident between them on the Nolan's front porch had shown him once and for all they couldn't be alone under any circumstances. If they were able to do _that_ where anyone could see them what would stop them from committing the full sin behind a closed door? Killian shuddered at the thought of such an act occurring within the sanctuary of the church, forcing the image of Emma lying atop his desk out of his mind. Thoughts like that would only lead to one thing and he had vowed after his talk with Belle not to touch himself again. To do so was inviting the sin to linger in his soul and if he stood any chance of abolishing it completely he couldn't allow that to happen, no matter how much his body would eventually crave the release he had allowed it to taste over the last few days.

Noting the time again, he closed his laptop and began to gather his things.

No, he wouldn't let temptation push him out of his church but he also wasn't going to go out of his way to be alone with Emma Nolan either. What had occurred between them could not go any further and he prayed that whatever had overcome her on Saturday to say what she had would disappear as quickly as the fireworks had in the night sky.

It had to - because nothing was ever going to happen between them again.

* * *

Wrenching the front left door of the church open, Emma cursed quietly under her breath as her right hand gave another painful throb.

_Fucking Will Scarlet._

Her and Graham had rushed over to the cemetery and managed to completely surprise the three vandals before they scattered in different directions. Graham had taken off after two of them and she had been about to chase after the third when she had spotted a familiar leather clad form out of the corner of eye. Turning, she had seen none other than Will Scarlet stood by the side of the Mills vault, spray paint in one hand and an open bottle of vodka in the other. He had dropped both and taken off straight into the woods surrounding the cemetery and she had given chase, muttering about grown ass men who got drunk and helped a bunch of bored teenagers.

Despite him being drunk he had given her a good chase, weaving in and out of trees and over fallen logs with a coordination even Emma would be hard pressed to have while sober. After a good twenty minutes she had finally caught up to him and tackled him to the forest floor, handcuffing and hauling his drunk ass all the way back to the police station. The police cruiser was gone from the cemetery when they emerged from the woods and Leroy, who was coming in for second shift, had told her that Graham had called and said that he had caught one of the vandals and was in the process of tracking the other one down. By the time she had gotten Scarlet into the cell and handed the station over to Leroy she was already late for her shift at the church.

It wasn't until she had gotten into her bug that she had noticed the cut on her hand.

She must have done it when she tackled Will, possibly catching it on a stick or sharp rock and hadn't noticed because of the adrenaline from the chase. It was a fairly deep cut that ran diagonally across her palm and was almost the entire width of her hand - not bad enough to require stitches she had thought but it definitely hurt now that she was aware of it. Since she was running late for her shift at the church she hadn't bothered popping back into the station to wrap her hand, knowing Father Jones kept a first aid kit in the church and had driven one handed the short distance from the station to the church, once again thankful her parents had given her an automatic rather than a stick shift. Now she just needed to bandage the cut and try to find out where Father Jones had decided to go today so he could avoid her.

Opening the door that lead to the kitchen, Emma froze in momentary shock.

There, sitting at the kitchen island with his laptop and Bible was none other than Father Jones. He was dressed in his usual priest attire - black slacks, a dark purple dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to combat the heat, the white collar of his office at his neck - and despite her throbbing wound she couldn't help but admire his bare forearms or the way the muscles in his hand flexed as he wrote on a legal pad. Apparently the good Father had decided not to hide from her today, or at the very least not go outside the church to do so.

He looked up at the sound of the kitchen door closing with a rather loud _thud_ and she watched his eyes widen when he realised who had walked in. An adorable blush reddened his cheeks and went all the way to the tips of his ears as he stared at her and she could only imagine that he was remembering what had happened between them the last time they had seen each other. He was up in a flash, the bar stool almost toppling over in his haste to stand as he began to quickly gather his laptop and Bible with jerky movements.

"I'll be going-"

"Don't leave on my account," Emma sighed, already moving toward the drawer that housed the first aid kit. She may want to jump his bones but at the moment she had another pressing issue at hand - literally. "I'll be out of here as soon as I take care of this cut."

Before she could take another step he was rounding the kitchen island and blocking her path to the kitchen cabinets, gently but firmly grabbing her right wrist as his blue eyes fixed on the red wound. Emma tried to ignore the jolt of electricity that shot through her as his hand wrapped around her wrist and she had to physically stop herself from swaying forward when that unique smell of something spicy mixed with a hint of mint hit her.

"What happened?" he asked in what Emma could have sworn sounded like concern.

"It's nothing," she replied, watching his brows furrow as he turned her hand to get a better look at the cut. "I cut it on a chase today and didn't notice until I was on my way here."

He didn't respond right away, simply continued to study her wound intently. After a few seconds he nodded almost to himself. "Right, let's get you to the office then."

She opened her mouth - to protest or agree, she wasn't sure which - but before she could utter one word he was moving toward the kitchen door, her wrist still held firmly within his hand and forcing her to follow him. Not that she minded, especially since their current positioning gave her an unobstructed view of his backside and the way his dress shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. His impressive physique wasn't what had her a bit off kilter though. First the man had given her one of the best orgasms of her life and then he had avoided her like she was the snake in the Garden of Eden and now here he was, willingly invading her personal space and seemingly concerned over a minor cut. Avoiding her after what had happened between them she could understand but his current actions made absolutely no sense - it was like the second she thought she had the priest figured out he threw another card on the table and completely changed the game. It was perplexing to say the least and she could feel her head spinning trying to keep up with him.

As they entered his office she noticed he had not only turned her desk fan on but left his on as well before going to the kitchen, giving the non-air conditioned room some air flow so that when she came in for her shift it wasn't boiling hot. The action only added another layer of complexity to the man in front of her.

"Why are we here? I thought the first aid kit was in the kitchen?"

"It was," he responded, leading her behind his desk. Keeping her wrist still firmly grasped in his left hand he used his free hand to open one of the drawers on his desk. "I brought it in here to restock it after one of the choir kids needed some supplies after a fall last week."

"Oh," Emma murmured as he retrieved the small white box and sat it atop his desk where his laptop would normally be. She was more than a little surprised that he seemed to be holding a normal conversation with her considering they hadn't said one word to each other since he had bolted from her front porch two days ago. She watched him pop the lid open with one hand and taking a roll of gauze out, setting it next to the box.

Emma quirked an eyebrow. "Is gauze really necessarily? A large band-aid will do just fine."

Killian sighed. "Unfortunately I haven't had time _to_ restock it so we're going to have to make do without some essentials - band-aids being one of them."

"As long as there is neosporin in there. Last thing I want to do is get an infection from a dirty twig."

Rummaging around for a brief moment Killian grunted. "No antibacterial cream but I have the next best thing."

Emma frowned in confusion as he leaned down and opened the bottom drawer to his desk but her eyebrows nearly went to her hairline when he pulled a bottle of rum out.

"You keep _alcohol_ in your desk?!"

Killian threw her a perplexed look as he finally let go of her wrist to open the bottle. "Aye."

"But… why? _How?_ "

"I enjoy the occasional glass every once and awhile."

Emma stared at him. " _Priests can drink_?" she asked in shock as he once again took her wrist in his left hand.

"There's no church law that states we can't, Miss Nolan."

"Really? Because that seems- ahhhh!"

A white hot, stinging sensation coursed through Emma's palm as the priest poured a small amount of the dark alcohol onto her cut and she instinctively tried to jerk away from the pain only to be stopped by the firm hold Killian had on her wrist.

"What the hell?!"

"Sorry, lass. I should have warned you that was going to sting to the high heavens a little," he said, setting the bottle of rum atop his desk.

"More than a little," Emma grumbled.

Killian didn't respond to her quip, instead reaching into the first aid kit for a packet of wet wipes and carefully cleaning the excessive rum and blood from around her cut, making sure he didn't get too close to the actual wound and irritate it more. The tender way in which he cleaned her hand caused a warmth she couldn't explain to slowly spread through her chest and Emma felt herself physically pause at the sensation, her eyes moving up from her injured hand to study his face intently. He was completely absorbed in his task as her nurse, dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he continued to remove blood from her palm with gentle swipes of the wet cloth.

It wasn't the first time she had been tended to after an accident, of course. Despite her sometimes strained relationship with her mother Emma could clearly remember the raven haired school teacher tending to her skinned knees and bee stings as a child, always there with a cartoon bandage and a kiss to make the pain go away. Granny had even reset a finger she had jammed while horsing around with Ruby in the stockroom of the diner when she was ten but this experience was different. There was nothing maternal or friendly about the way he cleaned her wound or the concern she saw in the set of his jaw - it was intimate, the care with which he tended to her making her feel cherished and protected while not being overbearing like other men she had known. She had seen this side of him before - the caring priest tending to a member of his flock, be it of a spiritual or physical nature - but she had never had it directed _toward_ her and Emma realised it was another facet of a very complex man she was seeing for the first time.

And she honestly didn't know how to feel about that revelation.

"I'm surprised you're helping me," she murmured suddenly, needing to fill the silence between them to keep her mind from going to a dangerous place.

Killian tossed the last wet wipe into the trash at her words and reached for the already opened roll of gauze. Sea blue eyes flickered to her face for a brief moment and Emma felt that warmth in her chest tighten ever so slightly around her heart at the multitude of emotions she saw in those blue depths.

"I'm first and foremost a gentleman, Miss Nolan," he replied softly, letting go of her wrist so he could start wrapping her hand in the soft material. "I'm not going to let you bleed out on the floor."

Emma blinked in surprise at his words, the sixth sense she had always had telling her he wasn't lying. She knew he had been troubled after what had happened between them and yet he was here, pushing all that to the side and helping her despite the spiritual turmoil her actions had caused him. It would have been easy to write off his actions as those of a man who wanted her even if he hadn't admitted it to himself yet but in the slightly humid and brightly lit office she knew that wasn't the case. When she looked at him now she didn't just see the hot priest and she wanted to take to bed, she also saw the _man_ he was. A man who was thoughtful and caring, kind-hearted, and who was so observant of another person's needs he put them above his own - the kind of man who tended to a hurt woman despite the fact she had seduced him to a breaking point a mere two days ago.

As Killian went to tie the knot that would hold her bandage in place the chime of a cell phone sounded in the quiet office, startling both of them.

"Sorry, that's probably Robin texting me about a Catholic youth group Henry's school wants to start," he mumbled apologetically, reaching into the pocket of his dress slacks with his left hand. Before Emma could even nod in understanding he had taken one end of the gauze in his right hand and bent forward slightly to grip the other loose end with his teeth, pulling the gauze tight.

_Holy shit._

Emma was no stranger to erotic sights - half dressed and well built men on billboards, sex scenes in movies, even the occasional porn video when she needed revving up to get herself off - but the sight in front of her was by far the most erotic one she had ever seen. It wasn't even meant to be sexual. Her bandage needed to be secured or all his hard effort to keep her from getting an infection and bleeding everywhere would be for nothing but there was something about the way he used his mouth to do it that screamed _sex, sex, sex._ It shouldn't have surprised her, really. The man made holding a Sharpie in his mouth look downright obscene and how many times had she watched him wrap his rosary around those long fingers in a way that could only be termed salacious?

The entire picture in front of her needed to come with an 'over 18' warning - the way a few strands of his hair fell across his forehead, the flex of his jaw as he bit down, the sensation of his beard gently scraping her fingers, the gauze disappearing between his lips - and she could feel the desire that was always simmering beneath the surface when he was around flare hotly to life and go straight between her thighs.

_Fuck._

* * *

Tightening Emma's bandage, Killian looked down at the text message that had lit up his iPhone's screen.

_**Belle: It was good to see you today. I know our conversation was a little on the heavy side but I just want you to know I am proud of you. And Liam would be too.** _

Killian's heart warmed at his sister's words of praise and he smiled internally. He had started the day so lost and broken, drowning in sin and self loathing but he had found his way again and he owed it all to the amazing woman that was his sister. He wasn't completely sure Liam would be proud of him - his brother, while loving and caring, had never been one to go around saying such things - but knowing _she_ was proud of him meant the world to him. She truly was his emotional rock. Deciding to give her a call instead of simply texting her back, he pocketed his cell phone and turned his attention back to Emma.

What he saw made him still instantly.

Emma was staring at the spot where his mouth was still on the gauze, her lips slightly parted and pupils dilated, the green of her eyes a dark emerald that shimmered with desire. He immediately jerked away at the sight, his arm hitting the open bottle of rum and making it wobble slightly in his haste to put distance between them. What the bloody hell was he doing? He had made the decision just a few hours ago to no longer give temptation an opening to his soul and here he was, alone once again with Emma Nolan and in an inappropriate situation. He hadn't even thought twice about his actions once he had seen her wound, the desire to protect and help her overriding his common sense and less than a few hours after vowing to claw his way off the path of sin he had placed himself squarely back on it.

What was it about this woman that made him unable to stay true to his vows for more than a few hours?

He watched as Emma shook herself from her desire filled haze and drop her freshly bandaged hand to her side, the corners of her lips turning down in confusion as she took note of his retreating form. "Killian?"

"You should go," he quietly whispered, turning away from her and screwing the cap back on the bottle of rum with shaking hands. She made no move to leave, however.

"Killian, what's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," he replied as he quickly stored the rum in his desk drawer before moving to the materials he had used to bandage her hand. He needed to get out of here before anything happened between them again. "You just need to leave."

She moved toward him then, her uninjured hand reaching for him. "Wait-"

Before her hand could reach his arm he moved away again, purposefully putting the edge of his desk between them. "Emma… Please, just go." Confusion filled her face as she stared at him, clearly unsure what had brought about this change in his demeanour but he could still see the desire in her eyes and his mind was screaming at him to run even as his body demanded that he give in to what he saw.

"I don't understand," she pressed, ignoring his plea for her to leave and moving toward him again. "Everything was okay until a few seconds ago-"

"Nothing about this has been okay!" he exclaimed, desperately moving backwards with every step she took toward him. "The things we said over text, the flirting, the- _God_ , what happened between us on Saturday… All of it has been wrong."

Emma's approach immediately ceased, the realization of what he was saying dawning on her face.

"It's not wrong if we both want it," she stated quietly.

"Of course it's wrong! What I've said… What we _did_ …" His voice faltered, the unsaid description of what he had allowed to happen choking him. "It isn't right."

"If it's so wrong then why did it feel so _right_?" she countered, resuming her determined steps towards him even as he continued to put distance between them. "I wanted it, you wanted it. How can that be a bad thing?"

" _Because I'm a priest!"_

God, why couldn't she let this go? She couldn't honestly believe that what had happened between them wasn't a mistake on a moral, spiritual, and ethical level. It didn't matter how good it had felt in that moment or every second that he had relived it as he brought himself to completion over the last few days - he was a priest and it never should have happened to begin with.

"That doesn't mean we can't do it. We would just need to be… discreet."

Killian's eyes widened at the implication behind her words, narrowly missing the end table that held a vase of fresh flowers from his garden as he moved backwards.

"No."

Determination filled Emma's face as she continued to follow his retreating form. "You can't deny that you want me, Killian - not after Saturday. You wanted it to happen just as much as I did."

"It doesn't matter what we want, Emma. _It can never happen again."_

"Why not?!"

It was in that moment that Killian, in his haste to keep distance between himself and Emma, bumped into one of the less sturdier bookshelves with his left shoulder. The numerous religious figurines left behind by Father Merlin and his predecessors shook wildly on the shelves from the force of his collision with the old bookcase and a large book toppled from the top shelf, landing directly between them with a loud _thud_. They both stopped instantly at the sound, eyes moving to the tome that lay between them like a line drawn in the sand. It was an old book, it's leather bound front covered in a fine layer of dust showing it hadn't been used in years, perhaps decades, but the golden words etched into the black leather read as clear as the day they had been put there - _The Holy Bible._

_Talk about divine intervention, little brother._

Ignoring his brother's voice Killian looked to Emma and saw her face slowly darkening with anger, realization that her question had just been answered thinning her lips.

"This is why, Emma. It goes against God's word and it- it's wrong. It can never happen again."

Her eyes shot up at his words, hurt flashing within her emerald gaze even as the rest of her face hardened further with anger.

"Fine. I'll be at Granny's grabbing a late lunch, just so you know where not to go so you can stay far away from me and my _wrong_ desires."

Killian's eyes closed as she stormed past him, ignoring every instinct he had as a gentleman that screamed at him to stop her. He had never meant to hurt her but she had to understand why this _thing_ between them could go no further than it already had. It was better for her to be angry at him now than hurt later on when their would-be affair was exposed because the type of thing she had been suggesting _always_ came to light one way or another.

"Oh, and Father?"

Opening his eyes Killian turned to see her standing with the doorknob in her hand, eyes flashing as she looked at him.

"You should pick that up since it's so damn important to you."

And with a hard tug of the door she was gone.

* * *

Storming down the back hallways of the church, Emma berated herself for her moment of weakness.

She had let her guard down for the first time in a decade, told herself there was more to the man in front of her than what met the eye but in the end Father Jones had done exactly what Neal had done all those years ago - rejected her. He hadn't left her in a darkened pawn shop to take the fall but he had lead her on just the same. She had offered Neal a new start, a life with her outside this godforsaken small town and her heart but it hadn't been enough for him, his promise of a future together his way of ensuring he and he alone made it out of Storybrooke. And Father Jones was no different. He had hinted at wanting her, all but saying it in that last text message from over a week ago and then shown her just how much he desired her only to backtrack when the guilt overcame him, citing his position as the reason he didn't want her.

Well his position certainly hadn't stopped him from dry-fucking her two days ago.

Yanking the front left door of the church open with enough force to send it crashing into the wooden wall she made her way outside, her anger building more and more with every step she took.

 _The actual nerve of the man._ Pretending like he cared about her well being, adamant that he help her with her wound - and for what? So he could then reject her, to tell her what she wanted she was wrong? Fuck him and the white collar at his neck. Taking her cell phone out of her back pocket with her uninjured hand, she quickly unlocked her phone and scrolled through her contacts. He may be able to turn his nose up at what she was offering but she knew of at least one man who wanted what she would offer him.

"Graham? I've changed my mind. I would love to go on that date with you."

 


	11. Faith or Cowardice

 

"Hair up or down?"

"Down," Emma replied, unable to stop from smiling at the sheer happiness that radiated from Tink's face as the other blonde reached for the curling iron that had been turned on prior to Emma getting into the shower. Tink had always had a love affair with hair - God knew her, Elsa, and Ruby had never had to pay for a professional hairstylist for any formal occasion throughout high school - and it was truly no surprise she had ended up opening her own salon before she was twenty-one. Tink was good at what she did though, which was exactly why Emma had let the petite blonde take charge of doing her hair despite Emma's own lackluster feelings about her impending date.

Not that she could have stopped any of them from being there.

As Tink wrapped a piece of her freshly blow dried hair around the barrell of the curling iron Emma looked into her vanity mirror at her other two best friends. All she could see of Ruby was the brunette's backside clad in a pair of skimpy cut off jeans while she plundered Emma's closet, completely in her own element as she moved dress after dress to the side with a shake of her dark head. Elsa, ever the mother of the four of them, was sat cross legged on the bed in her favorite pair of leggings and a blue t-shirt, firing question after question off.

"So where is Graham taking you?"

"Please don't say Granny's," Tink muttered, fluffing the curl she had just made into Emma's hair so it hung more as a loose wave.

Ruby snorted. "Pretty sure I or Granny would have known if he had picked the diner, Tink!"

"Well you can never be too sure," the petite blonde replied as she curled the next section of Emma's hair. "It's where Arthur took me for our first date."

"Yeah, but you were teenagers-"

"He's taking me to Bo Peep's Steakhouse," Emma replied, cutting off Ruby before her friends could go too in depth with previous date talk.

She was already feeling sick to her stomach at the idea of this date and didn't think she could hold down the grilled cheese sandwich she had forced herself to eat at lunch. Word had spread fairly quickly after she had accepted Graham's offer for a date - apparently the Irishman had answered her call on speakerphone while sat in Granny's diner, the hot bed for gossip in Storybrooke - and by the time she had finished her shift at the church Monday night she already had two dozen texts and missed calls from her three best-friends. The girls had been waiting for her when she got home, happily let in by her ecstatic mother and all three had been bouncing with barely restrained giddiness as they questioned how Graham had asked her out. Emma had answered all their questions and agreed to let them help her get ready for the big date, pulling from her years of acting while as a bail bondsmen to match their level of excitement.

Because the truth was Emma wasn't looking forward to her upcoming evening with the Irishman.

As soon as she had hung up with Graham a ball of regret had begun to from in the pit of her stomach and it had only grown over the past five days. She had accepted his offer in the heat of an emotionally charged moment, Killian's rejection pushing her to do so without giving herself time to calm down and see the mistake she was making. The reason she had turned Graham's offer down the first time - aside from wanting Father Jones - was because she didn't want to lead him on and yet, she had ended up doing that very thing. Emma knew going on this date wouldn't change how she felt about him and in the end would only serve to raise the Irishman's hopes of a relationship forming between them. She had contemplated calling the whole thing off but her friends happiness over the impending date and her own wounded pride at being rejected by Father Jones kept her from doing so, even though her anxiety had almost choked her the closer the day had drawn.

"Well that sure is fancy," Tink commented, pulling Emma from her internal thoughts. "Bo Peep has the best steak in the county."

"It's also the priciest restaurant this side of the Mississippi!" Ruby called as she disappeared completely into the closet.

Emma's brows furrowed in thought as she reached for her hot cocoa. Ruby wasn't wrong - Bo Peep's Steakhouse was owned by Betty Peep, the richest woman in the state thanks to the ranch that had been in her family for eight generations and the string of restaurants running up the Eastern seaboard that she had opened over the last thirty years. The meat served in her restaurants all came from the family ranch and was considered some of the best in the country which put a hefty price tag on how much a meal there cost. It wasn't Emma's normal stomping ground for a dinner - expensive leather booths, high end wine labels, a multitude of spoons and forks that had specific uses she had never learned - and certainly wasn't a place _she_ would have chosen to have a date but Graham had insisted...

"Do you have condoms?"

Emma choked slightly on her hot cocoa and winced as the forward movement of her head pulled slightly at the hair Tink currently had wrapped in the curling iron.

"I'm not going to sleep with him on the first date!"

"And why the hell not?!" came Ruby's surprised shout from her closet as Elsa frowned in confusion at Emma's reflection in the mirror.

"Well there's nothing wrong if you do, Emma," she replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "He _is_ a handsome guy and you're a modern woman. Our mothers might have balked at the idea of sleeping with a man on the first date but it's something we've all done."

Eyes falling to the vanity covered in makeup and hair products, Emma took a careful sip of her hot cocoa. She couldn't tell her friends that the real reason she wouldn't sleep with Graham was because she still wanted to bed the local priest, even if he didn't want her. The hand currently resting in her lap tightened on the fabric of her bathrobe as his words from Monday echoed back to her, the anger she had felt then bubbling within her chest. _This is why, Emma. It goes against God's word and it - it's wrong. It can never happen again._ Whatever she had hoped to start with the priest, whatever she had lead herself to believe was there between them had all been a lie and she needed to accept that. She had tried to get her mind off him - throwing herself into her duties at the station, volunteering with her father at the local animal shelter, picking running back up - but none of it had worked. Her dreams and waking hours were still plagued by him and what could have been, the images leaving her gasping and aching for a man she could never have.

For a man who didn't want her.

Looking back up at Elsa's reflection in the mirror Emma carefully slid her face into an expressionless mask and shrugged. "I just don't see it leading to that tonight," she lied.

"I don't see how it couldn't," Tink replied, curling the last section of Emma's hair. "You're a gorgeous woman, Graham's easy on the eyes… It's going to end between the sheets."

"And I'm sure Graham is a responsible enough guy to have test results on hand if that is your worry. You got yours in, right?"

Emma nodded. She had gotten her results back two weeks ago from when she had been tested before leaving New York and was thankfully clear of all diseases.

"Plus you're on birth control so you've got a backup method of protection," Elsa pointed out, uncrossing her legs and sliding off the bed. "If all goes well I say go for it, Emma."

"You know it can't be wrong if Mother Hen is giving you the go ahead," Tink whispered, throwing Emma a wink in the mirror before stepping to the side with her curling iron raised like a wand. "Done!"

Emma smiled as she took in the perfectly crafted waves her friend had created, a pang of guilt running through her that she couldn't truly be excited about her date tonight when Tink had put in so much effort to give her flawless hair.

"It's perfect. Thank you, Tink."

Tink beamed as she unplugged the curling iron. "Anytime!"

Ruby appeared from the depths of Emma's walk-in closet then, strands of her dark hair coming loose from her ponytail as she bounced with barely restrained excitement.

"Alright, time to get dressed!"

Despite the ball of anxiety tightening further in her stomach Emma laughed at her friend's enthusiasm. The only thing that could rival Tink's love affair with hair was Ruby's downright obsession with clothes. "Calm down, Rubes. Did you find any dresses you plan on stealing from me at some point?"

Ruby's red lips pulled into a wide grin as Emma stood and made her way to the closet. "There were a few I might have to take off your hands for a night or two," she laughed, crossing her arms and leaning against the closet doorway. "Right now I'm more excited to see this dress you've picked out for the big night."

"Yes! Let's see the dress!" Tink exclaimed, hopping onto the end of Emma's bed and tugging Elsa down beside her.

Emma forced herself to smile, the picture of an excited woman about to go on a date with a handsome man and reached into her closet for the dress she had chosen to wear. Twirling around dramatically - another part of her happy charade - she held the dress up for her friends to see.

"What do you think?"

Elsa immediately nodded in approval as Tink's head tilted to the side, inspecting the dress with a careful eye while Ruby's excited grin vanished in the blink of an eye.

"You're joking."

"What?" Emma asked, looking at her dark haired friend in confusion. "It's a perfect date dress!"

"If you plan on going on a date with an old man."

"Ruby!" Elsa scolded, tossing one of the decorative pillows at the end of Emma's bed toward the brunette. "It's a pretty dress!"

"I never said it wasn't!" Ruby defended, knocking the incoming pillow missile away before it could reach her. "But it's not first date material!"

"We all can't wear a slip as a dress."

Ruby rolled her eyes at the light blonde's remark. "I'm not saying Emma should wear a slip - which, _by the way_ I pulled off at the Homecoming dance brilliantly, thank you - but that dress doesn't scream 'take me back to your cabin and fuck me like a woodsman who hasn't seen a woman in ten years.'"

Emma's cheeks reddened at Ruby's words, her eyes falling to the dress on its hanger. The fact was that was precisely _why_ she had chosen this dress. She didn't want her date with Graham to end up back at his place - she really didn't even want to _go_ on this date - and the dress in her hand was perfect for that. It was light pink and by far the 'girliest' dress she owned with a sharp v-neckline and detailed bodice, complete with a small belt and flowing skirt that reminded her of the 1950's dress style. It was simple and classic but most importantly it was safe, the kind of dress you might wear in an established relationship when getting laid at the end of the date wasn't the most important aspect of the night.

"Tink, help me out here," Ruby pleaded.

The petite blonde smiled warmly at Emma. "It is a pretty dress but I have to agree with Ruby. It looks more like something you would wear to church rather than a hot date, honestly." At Elsa's quiet scoff Tink rolled her eyes. "Elsa, you were _just_ telling her that she should sleep with Graham."

"She can still accomplish it in that dress!"

"I don't even think _I_ could get laid wearing that dress," Ruby countered. Sighing, the brunette pushed herself off the closet doorway and moved to grasp Emma's shoulders. "Em, how long has it been since you've had an orgasm that wasn't brought on by your _own_ hand?"

An image of Killian rutting against her as he pressed them both into the pillar of her parent's porch flashed through her mind but Emma quickly shook it away, carefully keeping her face schooled of emotions.

"Over a year," she lied.

"Exactly. It's time you got laid properly my friend and I love you, but that dress in your hand is not going to accomplish that. Will it get you a second date? Absolutely. Fucked within an inch of your life by a hot Irishman? No."

There was no way out of this - Ruby was right, of course. It was the entire reason she had picked the dress out but with Ruby standing in front of her and Tink and Elsa looking at her expectantly, Emma realised this was her biggest acting part. To her friends she was excited about this date and what red blooded woman _wouldn't_ want to have sex with a handsome guy if a date went well? She had to appear like that was what she wanted to happen even if it didn't and that all began and ended with the dress she wore tonight.

Sighing, Emma turned to place the pink dress on the hanger hanging on the back of her closet door. "Alright, Rubes. What do you have in mind."

Smiling in triumphant, Ruby moved and began to shift through Emma's closet with enthusiasm.

"You want to knock his socks off but not appear too slutty, a dress that screams sex while not _being_ overtly forward. You need to wear something like… this."

Pulling out the dress that had caught her eye Ruby held it up for Emma to see, grinning wolfishly.

"He won't know what hit him."

* * *

As the hard guitar strings of AWOLNATION's _Guilty Filthy Soul_ began to play through his headphones Killian made his way down Main Street, jaw clenching as he tried and failed not to think about what was happening tonight.

It had barely been twenty-four hours after his and Emma's heated discussion when he had heard the news, the newest town gossip flying through the streets and shops of Storybrooke at record speed. He hadn't believed it the first time he heard it - _you didn't want to believe it, little brother_ \- but hearing Ruby and Tink gushing over the news while at Granny's had dashed that to shreds. The entire town was talking about it by lunch on Wednesday - _"It's about time!"_ and _"They are going to have a beautiful wedding one day!"_ whispered in every store aisle and street corner of the small town. The general reaction of the townsfolk to the news was excitement and happiness but not from him.

No, Killian had found himself the only person in the entire town who didn't share in the excitement that Graham and Emma were going on a date.

He was under no delusions that jealousy played a large part in his negative reaction to the news. He may have chosen to stay true to his vows but it didn't mean he stopped wanting her or that he _liked_ the idea of her being in another man's arms. If anything that thought alone had plagued him the most, images of them tangled together with Graham touching her fueling his jealousy and keeping him awake long into the night.

He still didn't understand how Graham taking Emma on a date had even come about. The last he had seen of her on Monday she had been angrily slamming his office door and by lunch the next day he had heard the first stirrings of news from a few parishioners as he made his way to the confessional. She had clearly been upset by his refusal to back down from the vows he had taken - hurt, even - so how had she went from that to accepting a date with Humbert in less than a day? Moving out of the way of a group of school children running down the sidewalk, Killian shook his head at the thought.

It wasn't his place to question her motives. After all, wasn't this what he had wanted - for her to give up the idea of them ever being together and stop pursuing him? She was doing just that by going on the date. So why did the thought of her being able to stop her desire for him and be with another man so quickly bother him?

Because it was exactly what _she_ had done.

Killian's jaw clenched harder at the thought, forcing his face to remain emotionless so as not to create gossip about the town's priest walking down the street looking like he wanted to punch someone. He wasn't wrong in his assessment, however. Milah had pursued him until he had given in and broken the rules, ending both of their Naval careers and then in a blink of an eye she had left him, gone back to her corporate husband who could give her a lifestyle Killian was unable to. Emma had done that as well. She had seduced him until he had broken, had even tried to suggest they could hide an affair between them but the moment he had stood his ground and refused to break his vows she had moved on to another man, one that could give her the type of pleasure he couldn't.

The realization had opened a deep wound he thought long ago healed, Emma's ability to quickly turn her desires onto another man setting heavily on his soul in a way Milah's change of heart never had, even though he had been in love with her. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks Killian pondered the reason for that as he turned onto Misthaven Rd. He might have loved Milah but from the moment he met Emma he had felt an instant connection with her, one that went deeper than simply wanting to fall into bed with her. She was a kindred spirit, the pain she tried to hide shining brightly from her green gaze for him to see. It was the same kind of pain that had left scars on his own soul.

Killian shook his head. None of that mattered though - the connection he thought had been there, his desire, her being able to move on with Graham so quickly - because at the end of the day, he was still a priest and had vows to stand by. No amount of wondering and sulking was going to change that.

A faint rumble from above pulled him from his thoughts and Killian looked up to see the late afternoon sky slowly darken as storm clouds rolled in from the west, the ominous grey veil blocking out the setting sun and tinting everything in muted shades. The air around him already thick with humidity suddenly became heavier, the pressure almost suffocating and the breeze that had been denied to the residents of Storybrooke even on the hottest of days swept through the busy street, pressing the hot air into his face and bringing with it the distinct smell of rain. A severe thunderstorm had been forecasted for that evening, one the local weatherman said had the potential to be the worst Storybrooke had seen in the past ten years and Killian had been praying it would hold off until after he had seen Robin. With Emma's date set for that night he knew locking himself in his office with a bottle of rum was a dangerous choice and had thought it better to spend the evening with his best friend, forcing himself to think of something other than Emma touching Humbert. By the looks of the clouds above him however, it was only a matter of an hour or so before the storm fully arrived.

Changing direction, he backtracked a few feet and slipped into the alley between French's Flower Shop and Tink's Beauty Salon that would empty out onto Main Street and give him a more direct route back to the church. Storms were nothing knew to him - he had battled his fair share out on the open sea during his time in the Royal Navy - but he had learned early on while living in Storybrooke that there was nothing quite as ferocious as a summer thunderstorm in the South, and the last thing he wanted was to walk home in one or have Robin drive out of his way to safely deposit him back at the church. Emerging from the alley he turned left onto Main Street and was in the process of reaching for his phone to text Robin about the change in plans when a flash of yellow in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Looking to the right, Killian came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the sidewalk and his entire body froze at the sight before him.

_Bloody hell!_

Across the street and exiting the passenger side of a brown pickup truck was none other than Emma Nolan. Her slender figure was encased in a sleeveless pink dress that would have made a Saint fall to his knees and beg to be a sinner, the material hugging her like a second skin and highlighting every curve of her body perfectly. The dress stopped just above her knees and displayed her toned legs, the black high heels she wore that rivaled some of the ones his sister owned only accentuating her long legs further. Her hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders and he felt his hand twitch at the desire to curl one the strands around his finger.

He knew he shouldn't be staring so openly at her but he couldn't stop his eyes from trailing over her entire body. She was effortlessly beautiful and the very definition of temptation, her smile radiant in the darkness of the approaching storm - but it was the person on the receiving end of that smile that brought Killian's perusal to a screeching halt. So blinded was he by the vision of Emma in that pink dress he had not only failed to pay attention to the man helping her from the truck, but to also remember why Emma would be dressed like that.

This was her and Graham's date.

Killian's jaw ticked as the cold reality of what he was seeing fell over him, jealousy flaring hotly within his chest as he watched Graham's hand settle onto Emma's hip. This was the entire reason he had been heading to Robin's bar, to drown himself in conversation and whatever football match was on so he didn't have to imagine the two of them together and now he was seeing it with his own eyes, unable to look away despite the bile rising in his throat. He watched as Graham said something to her and offering Emma his arm, lead her toward the opulent restaurant as the wind from the storm carried Emma's laughter.

Without thought he made his way to Storybrooke Cafe, the little coffee shop that sat diagonally from the restaurant and ordered a hot tea from the high school aged cashier before making himself comfortable at one of the shop's patio tables. He knew he should continue on to the church before the storm hit but the jealousy coursing through his veins drowned out his good reasoning and demanded he stay and keep an eye on them, the need to see Emma even if she was on the arm of another man even stronger than his instinct to put as much distance between them as possible. _This is a bad idea, little brother._ Ignoring the voice of his brother, he quickly sent a text off to Robin to let him know he wouldn't be coming and settled into the iron chair as another rumble filled the darkened sky.

* * *

Walking out of Bo Peep's Steakhouse Emma dropped her phone into her leather clutch and took a deep breath, a triumphant smile pulling at her lips as the wind from the incoming storm whipped around her.

Graham had been perfectly punctual, arriving at her parent's house just before 6:30 with a bright smile and bouquet of flowers fresh from French's Flower Shop, looking every inch the gentleman in a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black tie, and dark grey dress pants. Her mother had practically bounced around the living room snapping pictures every few seconds while her father stood in the corner, arms crossed and looking like he was unsure if he should be smiling or issuing threats even though he had signed off on the date. Elsa on the other hand had no qualms about questioning Graham on his intentions for the evening and true to form Ruby had made a number of sexual gestures when Emma's parents weren't looking, earning her a glare from both Emma and Elsa while Tink awwed at every romantic gesture Graham did with heart eyes.

Emma had taken her friends and parents actions in stride, smiling for every picture her mother made them pose for and throwing her father the obligatory _please don't_ remark when he made the unnecessary comment about curfew but inside she felt sick, her true feelings about the date sitting like a weighted ball in the pit of her stomach the entire time. She had forced herself to fake every second of happiness and the guilt from her actions nearly choked her the entire ride to the restaurant. Graham was a good guy who didn't deserve to be deceived like this and it had been painfully obvious how excited he was for the evening. He did everything right - brought her flowers, kept his hand respectfully high on her lower back, opened the car door for her at the house and when they arrived at the restaurant - but no matter how much she tried Emma couldn't shake the guilt.

The date itself had only proved that her initial assessment about there being no romantic connection between them had been correct.

While their conversation never fell into the uncomfortable lull that a lot of her previous dates had it also hadn't excited her. Their topics of conversation had been ones they would have talked about while working at the station - how Jeffrey, Grumpy's youngest brother who was the local candle maker that never talked had been run up a tree by Archie's dalmatian a few days ago and how Granny had chased Wil out of the diner with a crossbow after he had made a negative comment about her onion rings earlier that day - and more than once Emma had found herself missing the engaging conversations she had had with Father Jones in the church's kitchen. Although Graham had grown up in another country it was clear he had taken on the small, Southern town mindset and the longer their conversation had went the more she realised just how little they actually had in common. Everything from their music tastes to their hobbies were polar opposites but the biggest difference, the one she knew meant they couldn't have a foundation for a lasting relationship, was what they wanted out of life. Graham was content to live the small town life of annual festivals with everyone having their noses in other people's business and he made no secret that he eventually wanted to settle down and raise a family. To Emma, it was a gigantic red flag for just how unsuited they really were for each other. While she was fine with calling Storybrooke home while she put her life back together she couldn't see herself living in her hometown long term and she certainly couldn't envision herself with the white picket fence, two kids running on the lawn and a baby on her hip - it just wasn't her. That was the life her mother wanted her to have, not what Emma wanted.

But there had been a positive twist to the evening, one Emma never could have seen coming.

Amidst realizing that her and Graham had never stood a chance of becoming a couple she had been hit with a revelation that had made her choke on her wine - Ruby was _perfect_ for the Irishman. She may not have the same taste in music or enjoy the same hobbies that he did but her brunette friend most definitely did. How many times had she ribbed Ruby about her peculiar fondness for classic country music and obsession with collecting wolf figurines? Graham loved that era of music and from the few times she had been to his cabin as a teenager she could remember it being decorated with all manner of wolf items. Ruby might be a _little_ more extroverted than him but it couldn't hurt for the Irishman to be with someone who would force him out of recluse habits every once and awhile. They were both independent individuals who valued family, headstrong and opinionated but had hearts of gold. More than that, Graham and Ruby wanted the same things out of life - to settle down, live the small town life and raise kids with the white picket fence surrounding them. _How had she never seen the connection before?_

The guilt that had been eating at her most of the day had finally fallen away with her revelation and she had switched gears from reluctant date to matchmaker quickly. She had spent most of their dinner dropping hints wherever she could - _"Oh, Ruby_ _ **loves**_ _that band too!"_ and _"Did you know Ruby had a thing for wolves?"_ \- and she had been certain by the time their date ended that Graham would take her eventual letdown in stride when Ruby Lucas became a guaranteed option for him.

Now she just needed to get her brunette friend on board with the idea...

"Everything okay?"

Turning around, Emma saw Graham pocketing his wallet as he walked out of the steakhouse. He had insisted on paying the bill - _"It's the proper thing to do."_ \- and she had begrudgingly let him even though it wasn't something she normally allowed. The part of her that was an independent and self-sufficient woman had always demanded for things to be equal in that type of setting, refusing to hand over even that small amount of power to the person sitting across from her. Ruby wasn't like that, however, and Graham's assertion that he would cover the bill completely was another check in the 'Graham was perfect for Ruby' column.

"Yeah, everything's fine," she replied, smiling as Graham came to stop next to her on the sidewalk. "Just enjoying the slightly cooler weather."

Graham nodded, his eyes scanning the now pitch black sky. "It is rather bearable at the moment."

"I'll say. I thought I was going to melt earlier with how tight this dress is."

Turning his attention from the night sky Graham let his eyes slowly trail down her body before coming back up to meet her gaze.

"You won't hear any complaints from me about that dress."

Emma felt her cheeks redden almost instantly at his words. "Ruby picked it out," she responded, hoping to subtly plant the image of Ruby in a similar - if not even less - dress in his mind.

Graham chuckled. "Well, Ruby always did have good taste in what the opposite sex would find appealing."

Emma mentally high fived herself at learning Graham had, at some point, noticed Ruby's tendency to dress provocatively - not that every male in Storybrooke _hadn't_ at one point or another. Her mind was already turning with ideas for how she could throw one of her best friends and co worker together long enough to get a spark to light. Regina's annual end of summer gala _was_ coming up next month. She knew it was something that Graham, ever the solitary woodsman, usually avoided but perhaps he would make an exception if Emma asked him to accompany Ruby. If not she was certain she could talk Tink into throwing a party after she brought the petite blonde on board with her plan….

"Emma?"

Pulled from her wandering thoughts, Emma shook her head to refocus her attention. "Hm?"

"Should I be concerned that I've already bored you to distraction after one date?" Graham teased, moving closer to her.

"Sorry, I was reminding myself of something I needed to do," she replied, trying in vain to keep the wind from whipping her hair into a tangled mess. Why hadn't she thought to bring a hair tie? "What did you say?"

Graham smiled softly. "Just that I had a lovely time with you tonight."

Emma started to make a comment about how she had enjoyed the least date-like date she had ever been on when his tense shoulders and awkward shuffling from one foot to the other caught her attention. He was clearly nervous and the more she studied him, the more she realised he was genuinely worried she hadn't enjoyed herself. His words from a few seconds ago echoed back to her - _"Should I be concerned that I've already bored you to distraction after one date?"_ \- and the sixth sense she had honed as a bail bondsman kicked in, telling her that the teasing tone he had used hid just how anxious he was. Not wanting her friend to feel distressed in any way, Emma reached for his right arm and gave it a comforting squeeze as she smiled.

"I had a good time, Graham. _Honestly_."

And she had. She may have started the day dreading their date but she had genuinely enjoyed herself and his company once she realised Ruby was a far more suitable match for him. Graham beamed at her, the nervous tension that had been coursing off him falling from his shoulders like a waterfall. He was clearly relieved to hear those words from her and Emma couldn't help but smile even more at the absolute happiness she saw on her friend's face. _Him and Ruby were going to be so perfect together…._

A sudden flash from above had her looking up to catch the tail end of a lightning bolt streak across the night sky, the brilliant flash of electrically briefly illuminating the dark storm clouds it shot through. Within seconds of it fading a deep rumble filled the air around them, the sound reverberating like a bass drum and a sure sign that the storm that had been brewing all afternoon was only a few minutes away from unleashing its power onto Storybrooke.

"I think that's our cue to leave," Emma laughed, tucking her hair behind her ears as the wind began to pick up with force. Looking back to Graham she noticed the determined look on the Irishman's face and the way he nodded to himself as if he had finally come to a decision about something.

"There's something I want to do first."

Before she could question him about what it was he wanted to do Graham was moving, his hands coming up to cup her face as he pressed his lips to hers. Emma's hands instinctively came up to grasp his biceps while the rest of her body instantly stilled at the contact, her mind racing and eyes wide with shock. _Graham was kissing her!_ While teenage Emma would have given anything for this moment, adult Emma was praying it would end quickly. It was such a vastly different kiss from the one she had shared with Killian a week ago. Killian had been passionate and all consuming, the simple touch of his lips enough to set her blood on fire, the world around them blurring until all she could focus on was the feel of his tongue tracing her lower lip and his unique smell of spices and mint invading her nostrils. Graham's kiss was nothing like that. He was too gentle, almost timid as his lips barely pressed against her own and he made no movement to deepen to the kiss. If her own instinct hadn't of told her they weren't suited for each other the kiss would have - there were no fireworks, no passion, and no flare of desire.

Breaking the kiss, Graham's eyes slowly opened as he continued to cup her face in his hands.

"I've been wanting to do that since I saw you come down the stairs tonight," he chuckled, his voice rough and accent thicker.

Emma wet her lips, unsure of what to say to that. She hadn't expected him to kiss her - although with hindsight she should have. To him they _were_ on a date and most dates, especially ones that went well, ended with a kiss. She made a mental note to divulge this moment to Ruby in full once she had set the brunette and Graham up.

Smiling softly, Emma stepped backwards. "I should be heading home."

Graham nodded, smiling happily and completely unaware that the kiss had meant nothing to her. "I'll get the car-"

"Oh, there's no need. I'll walk."

Graham instantly shook his head. "Emma, you can't walk home. A storm is about to hit!"

"It's fine, I'm not going all the way home," Emma laughed, checking to make sure her clutch was securely closed in case it started to rain before she reached her destination. "The girls are having a slumber party at Elsa's house and made me promise to swing by after dinner, no doubt to pile me with wine and get details about tonight."

Graham chuckled despite his obvious reservations about her plan. "Still, at least let me drive you to Elsa's..."

"Graham, I'll be fine. I promise. Elsa lives like three minutes from here if I take the back alleys."

"But what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you walk even that short distance alone and in the dark with a storm about to descend?"

Emma snorted. "A modern day gentleman who knows a woman can take care of herself. I lived in New York - there were plenty of times I walked home alone at night after catching a skip. And if the storm hits before I make it to Elsa's I'll duck into Granny's and wait it out." Leaning forward, she placed a chaste kiss to his scruffy cheek. "Thank you again for a wonderful night."

Before he could offer another chivalrous protest Emma turned and made her way across the street as another flash of lightning lit up the night sky.

* * *

Hiding in the alley that ran directly beside the Storybrooke Cafe, Killian found himself unable to breath at the sight before him.

He had sat on the coffee shop's patio area for a good hour and a half, his eyes trained on the restaurant Graham and Emma had disappeared into. When he had ignored common sense and decided to stick around he hadn't thought he would actually be able to _see_ the couple while they were on their date but God had apparently decided to torture him and they were placed at one of the large windows that ran down the front of the restaurant, giving Killian an unobstructed view of the pair. He had watched, jaw clenched and the fingers of his left hand drumming atop the glass table in annoyance as they had talked and laughed throughout dinner. It was clear even with the distance that they got along well and every time Emma smiled at the Irishman the jealousy swirling within his veins grew hotter and hotter.

When the shop closed for the evening he had made his way to the alley and hidden among its shadows. Night had fallen some time ago and the old timey street lamps that ran down the length of Main Street were the only light source in the darkness, their frosted coverings casting golden hues of light onto the closed shops and deserted street. The incoming storm above him had only grown with intensity since he had first sat down at the coffee shop with streaks of lightening periodically lighting up the night sky, followed by the deep rumble of thunder.

At half past nine Emma had exited the restaurant, still the perfect image of temptation and he had felt desire flare hotly within his belly at the sight of her standing on the sidewalk, smiling with the wind blowing through her hair. So entranced was he with the vision she struck at the edges of a glowing street lamp that for a moment he had forgotten why he was spying on her from a darkened alley but then Graham had walked outside and Killian's jealousy had flared anew. He had to physically restrain himself from striding out of his hiding spot when he saw Graham give Emma a heated once over and had to remind himself that as a priest, he couldn't punch the Irishman when Emma touched the other man's arm and smiled.

As the storm above had begun to increase with even more ferocity he had questioned what he was even doing there. What had he expected his spying to accomplish? It wasn't like he could confront Emma over her ability to turn to another man so quickly - not only could they never be a couple, she had made it clear with her actions after their last conversation she didn't want to speak to him - and seeing the two of them together had only caused a hot ball of anger to grow in his stomach. He had been mindlessly torturing himself by watching the woman he wanted interact with another man and for what reason? To remind himself that he could never have her? Seeing the white collar at his neck was a daily reminder of that fact already, he didn't need to see Emma with another man to know that they could never be together.

_Then why are you still here, little brother?_

Agreeing with the voice of his brother for once Killian started to turn and head down the alley when he witnessed the moment that had rendered him currently unable to breath - Graham kissing Emma.

Eyes widening in shock, Killian stumbled backwards until his right shoulder scraped along the brick exterior of the coffee shop and stopped his retreat. _No!_ He wanted to look away, to burn the image of them kissing out of his mind but he couldn't, his eyes riveted to the sight until it was all he could focus on and everything else around him faded away into blurred colors and muted sounds. He hadn't been prepared for this. Logically he knew their date could end with a kiss but knowing it would and seeing it with his own eyes were two vastly different things. This was what had kept him up at night the last few days, his fear come to life right before him and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

But just as quickly as the shock hit him the emotion changed, white hot jealousy coursing through his veins until it consumed him from the inside out. A primal, possessive response to claim what he wanted swelled within him as he took in the way Graham cupped Emma's face, images of his own hands holding her beautiful face as he had pushed her into the pillar on her front porch flashing through his mind. His jealousy only grew as he watched Emma's hands come up to grasp the Irishman's biceps, his jaw clenching hard and all rational thought flew from his mind at seeing the contact. Graham wasn't supposed to be on the receiving end of her touch, _he_ was. It was him she had professed to wanting - he was the one who left her wet and needing to relieve the tension, her words from a week ago echoing back to him with complete clarity.

The sound of heels clicking on pavement brought him out of his internal reverie and refocusing his attention he saw Emma walking directly toward the alley where he was hidden. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed the kiss end or the couple part ways, the gentleman in him blanching at the fact that Graham was apparently not escorting Emma home. The thought was quickly replaced however when he realised just how close Emma was to the opening of the alley and that he only had seconds to make a decision. He could make his presence known before she stumbled upon him and pretend he hadn't been spying on her date or he could try to stay hidden within the shadows and let her continue on. Either option would be the gentlemanly choice for him to make but just as Emma left the golden glow of a street lamp and entered the darkness of the alley the image of Graham kissing her flashed before Killian's eyes and the jealousy that was brewing beneath his skin roared back to life.

Killian Jones wasn't in the mood to be a gentleman tonight.

Just as Emma entered the darkness of the alley Killian reached out and grasped her left arm, yanking her toward where he stood. He felt the muscle in her arm tense immediately, years of being a bail bondswoman most likely coming into play but before she could execute a defensive maneuver to get away or lay him out on the alley floor he grabbed her right arm and spun them. Her surprised shout as her back hit the brick exterior of the coffee shop was drowned out by the crack of lightning from above and in the brief second that their world was illuminated he saw her eyes widen as she realised who had grabbed her.

"Killian? What are you-"

Before she could finish her question he pressed his body against her own until they were flush from chest to thigh, his mouth capturing hers in a heated kiss as the sky unleashed the storm that had been brewing for the past several hours with a torrential downpour. Fat droplets of cold rain washed over them, striking their exposed skin and soaking their clothes almost instantly with its ferocity. It was the kind of storm you didn't want to get caught in, the kind where the chill from the rain quickly worked its way to your bones and left you shivering but Killian felt none of it.

He was on fire - burning from the inside out, the blood in his veins igniting and he thought if this is what it felt like to fly too close to the sun he didn't care, he would welcome death to feel this way for the rest of his days. His focus was entirely on the movement of his mouth over Emma's and her response, everything else around him fading away to a dull roar. They both fought for dominance of the kiss with skill giving way to desire, teeth clashing and tongues curling around each other as they became more desperate. Her hands were everywhere - fisting in his drenched hair, grasping his biceps, wrapping around his neck to cling to the wet material of his shirt as she tried to pull him even closer - like she was drowning and he was the only thing that could keep her afloat under the onslaught. His own hands were not ideal however. Letting go of her arm his right hand fell to her waist, squeezing the supple curve while his left hand slid up her other arm to tangle in the wet locks now framing her face.

Nothing from the past week mattered in that moment - not their argument, not every second he endured listening to the town talk about her date, not seeing her on Graham's arm or the kiss that followed - all that mattered was the feel of her against him and the heavenly taste of her mouth. He could feel his cock began to harden the longer they kissed, knew she could feel it pressed against her stomach and all he wanted was to sink into her warm body, to finally let himself have the one thing he had denied himself over the past few weeks.

He was a split second between having the thought and acting on it when Emma's fingers began yanking on the white collar at the top of his dress shirt.

He stilled instantly, the fog of desire that had overcome him evaporating as quickly as the flash of lightning above them did. The simple act of her touching his clerical collar reminded him sharply of who he was and what he could lose if he allowed this to happen. Jerking away from her, Killian stumbled backwards until his own back hit the adjacent wall of the alley with a loud smack.

"Killian?"

He couldn't see her through the darkness but he could hear the question in her voice, the confusion as to why he had stopped something he clearly wanted. He did want her, God above knew he did. His body demanded he go back to her but his mind, now clear, was screaming at him to get out as quickly as possible before he stepped over a line that could never be redrawn.

"I- I can't do this," he whispered and with a quick turn ran from the alley.

* * *

Striding through the church's parking lot Emma paid no attention to the storm raging around her, her heels clicking angrily on the wet pavement with every step she took.

_The actual fucking nerve of the man._

Father Jones had bolted from the alley much the same way he had her parent's front porch a week ago but instead of leaving her confident, there had only been confusion in the wake of his departure. Anger had quickly replaced the confusion however and after picking up her clutch that had fallen when he grabbed her she went after him, not caring if anyone saw the sheriff's daughter stomping angrily through the rain. It was the third time that man had pulled away from her in a week, the second time he had out right turned her down and she was _sick_ of it. She had heeded the request he made in their last conversation that she give up the idea of them being together and yet it had been _him_ who grabbed her in a dark alley, pressed her up against a wall, and kissed her within an inch of her life. She was tired of the back and forth when it came to what the priest wanted and she was going to put an end to it, once and for all.

Coming to the church's large double doors Emma shoved them open with enough force to send the heavy wood slamming into the wall of the entryway, the sound muted through the roaring in her ears. Not caring if the doors remained open and any Storybrooke resident stumbled upon the argument about to ensue she made her way into the church and stopped at the last row of pews, her eyes searching. The church's power was still holding despite the ferocity of the storm, the lights hanging from the high arched ceiling brightly illuminating the chapel below and there, half way down the aisle, was Father Jones. He was kneeling on the white marbled floor, his dark head bowed and still dressed in his rain soaked clothes. He made no move to acknowledge that he had heard someone enter the church and as Emma listened more carefully she could hear his anguished murmuring in the too-silent church. A fresh wave of anger swept through her at the realization that he was _praying_ after having just kissed her once again.

"Father Jones!"

Visibly startling at her loud shout Killian looked over his shoulder, eyes widening as they landed on her and the surprised look on his face indicating he hadn't expected her to follow him. "Emma… You can't be here." he whispered as he quickly stood and turned toward her.

God, even while raging mad at him she couldn't help but notice how good looking he was. His wet dress shirt clung to his upper body like a second skin, defining the muscles of his stomach and biceps in a way that made desire spark through her anger. His soaked hair fell across his forehead, the wet strands tickling the dark eyebrows that lay abose those vivid blue eyes and droplets of rain water still clung to his face, trailing down to get lost in the scruff covering his jaw. The sight before her was almost enough to make her forget why she was angry at him - _almost_. Shaking her head and forcing her desire down, she started to make her way down the marble aisle toward him.

"Well it's a little late for that!" she snapped, her temper flaring hotly and all sense of Southern politeness leaving her. She didn't care if she interrupted him 100 times or made him so uncomfortable that he couldn't tear his eyes away from the floor - one way or another she was going to get answers from him. "What the hell was that back there?"

Killian immediately began walking backwards as she moved toward him, his hands up and desperately trying to keep distance between them. "I-I'm sorry. It was a mistake."

"Yeah?" Emma taunted, her anger increasing even more at him describing the incident as yet another mistake. "Just like suggestively texting me and dry humping me was a mistake? You seem to make an awful lot of those, _Father_."

The shadow of his own temper briefly crossed the priest's face at her words but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "It shouldn't have happened," he quietly responded, bumping into the altar table as he continued to retreat from her.

"You're damn right it shouldn't have happened! _You_ were the one who used his religion as an excuse to not fuck me-"

"It's not an excuse!" Killian yelled, moving to put the altar table between him and her. "In case you've forgotten, I'm a _priest_. What you want to happen between us can never happen."

As a crack of thunder boomed overhead and shook the old church as Emma laughed. "I've heard that line before. Your position didn't stop you from grabbing me in a dark alley and kissing me, now did it Father Backpedal?"

He remained silent despite her taunting nickname, the muscle in his jaw ticking away as he stared at her - he couldn't deny the truth of her words and they both knew it. She pressed on despite his silence, her green eyes never leaving him as she closed the distance between them.

"Because it's not just what I want - you want it too. You can deny it until Judgement Day and hide behind the collar of your office but you want me, Father Jones. You've admitted it before."

Killian's eyes widened in shock. "I have said no such thing."

"But you have," Emma replied as she reached opposite side of the altar table. "You admitted it in the last text message you sent me that night."

The priest's dark eyebrows drew together in confusion. "I never sent one after receiving your… picture," he insisted with a shake of his head.

With a raised eyebrow Emma popped open her black clutch, rummaging through the make up Ruby had made her put in there for touch ups and the pepper spray Elsa had snuck in for her phone. Opening her text app and scrolling until she found the thread she wanted, she set the phone down on the altar table and slid it toward him with a triumphant smile. She watched as Killian reached with a slightly unsteady hand for the device and read the text message, his eyes widening in shock once again at the realization he had admitted to wanting to touch her well before he ever had.

"This is... You don't understand," he stammered, hastily setting her phone down on the table like it was a snake that was going to bite him. "I was drunk that night."

Hiding her surprise at the revelation that a priest had let himself get drunk, Emma scoffed quietly. "What was it you said to me when I said that very same thing to you the day after those texts? _That's no excuse._ "

"It's not an excuse. I- You can't trust what someone says while they are drunk. Alcohol lowers a person's inhibitions."

"True," Emma conceded, closing her clutch and tossing it to the far end of the table. "I myself have done some very questionable things while drunk but the last time I checked you weren't drunk on my parent's front porch and you most certainly aren't drunk tonight. Care to explain what lowered your inhibitions those times, Father?"

She watched him clench his fists and turn away from her to look up at the large statue of the crucified Jesus that hung on the church wall, his shoulders stiff with tension. He was clearly warring with himself, trapped between denying what he had written and the consequences of admitting the truth of his words. He had a compelling argument for his text - God knew she had done things while drunk that she normally wouldn't have done sober - but they both knew he couldn't blame his actions over the past week on alcohol. That he had no argument for, nothing to give himself an out for giving into his desire other than the simple fact that he wanted her…

"You're right," Killian declared suddenly, turning back to face her. "I want you. I've never wanted to bend a woman over a desk so badly in my entire life and I've tried not to give in to it, God knows I have, but me admitting it changes nothing, Emma. I'm a priest and I can't give in to that desire no matter how badly I want to."

The elation of finally having him admit verbally that he wanted her was quickly doused by his continued stance of not being able to act on his desire and Emma felt the flames of anger lick at the base of her spine.

"It sure seems like you did twenty minutes ago."

Killian's eyes flashed darkly at her retort. "I may have moments of weakness _Miss Nolan_ but at least I'm not the one who proclaimed to want one man and then went and played tonsil hockey with another."

"Oh, so because _you_ were hiding behind your religion and could turn me down means I shouldn't have-" Emma paused mid rebuttal as the priest's words broke through the fog of anger. Tilting her head she asked, "Were you spying on me?"

"Of course not," Killian replied and Emma didn't need her sixth sense when it came to lies to know the priest wasn't telling the truth. She could see it in the way he wouldn't really wouldn't meet her eyes and the slight pinkening of his ears - the good Father _had_ been spying on her date and like the proverbial light bulb going off Emma knew he had kissed her because he had been jealous.

"Then how do you know Graham kissed me?"

"It- I was just… It doesn't matter how I know-"

"I think it does, Father," Emma began, leaning forward to rest her hands on the altar table between them. "I think you can't stay away from me no matter how much you think you should, _especially_ when you see another man touching me. You want me more than you want to remain truthful to your vows - it's why despite saying over and over again that nothing can happen between us, something _always_ does and it's instigated by _you_. But the reason you can't admit that is because you're afraid. Of what I'm not sure - afraid of failure, afraid of the retribution the church would bring down - but at the end of the day you're a priest who wants to fuck a woman and you can't change that. You've tried and failed to by your own admission. So my question to you is this - is it faith or is it cowardice keeping you with us, Father Jones?"

The silence that fell between them after her question was thick with tension and Emma's heart pounded against her rib cage as she waited for his answer, her eyes locked on his unmoving form. The storm continued on outside, rain steadily pelting the roof as lightning flashed and thunder roared, mother nature unphased by the turning point currently happening within the house of God. This was the deciding moment. She could understand if faith was keeping him loyal to his vows, even an agnostic like herself able to comprehend the importance and sacredness of a person's faith. What she wouldn't be able to understand was if he chose to remain bound to his vows out of fear, using the robes of his office to stop himself from taking what he wanted. Either way she knew if he didn't choose his desire over his faith she was walking out and she could only respect him for one of the reasons keeping him faithful to the church.

Killian said nothing, however, and she knew then what his answer was.

With anger and rejection swirling sharply within her gut Emma snatched her phone and clutch from the altar table. "That's what I thought. You're nothing but a coward," she muttered, internally damning the day she had walked into the church and seen him as she turned to leave.

She had barely taken four steps when she was spun around and had only a split second to register the determined look on Father Jones's face before he was kissing her.

Their first kiss had been an explosion of desperation, all heated movements and hunger but this one was about control. There was a sureness to the way his mouth moved over hers and in the grip his hands took, one fisting in her wet hair and the other dropping to her backside to yank her against him. It was the kiss of a man who knew what he wanted and was _taking_ it. As the shock of his sudden change in behavior wore off she dropped her clutch and phone to the wooden floor and found her own hands wandering, her left curling into the wet fabric of his shirt as her other hand clung to his broad shoulders. When the hand on her ass squeezed roughly she gasped and Killian wasted no time in sweeping his tongue into her mouth, curling it around her own as the kiss turned heated.

Before she could wrap her mind around the fact he had obviously changed his answer to her question he was moving them, steadily walking her backwards until her back hit something solid and unmoving - the pulpit, her desire fogged mind realised. He was pressed against her in an instant, lips moving from hers to place wet kisses along her jaw as he descended to her neck and began to suck at the sensitive skin there. It was apparently a thing for him to have her pressed against something she thought with an internal laugh, their current positions almost mirroring the one they had been in a week ago on her parents' front porch. That sense of deja vu was only heightened when he brought his hands to her shoulders and pulled the straps of her dress down her arms quickly followed by the front of her dress, the pink fabric bunching under her lace clad breasts.

Opening her eyes, she watched his dark head move from the place where he had surely worked a mark into her skin down to her breasts and she gasped as he nipped at her through the red lace, his tongue flicking against the fabric until the bud had hardened to a tight peak. Seeming to need more, he reached around her to unclasp the strapless undergarment and tossed it to the side before diving back in, this time without a barrier between his mouth and her nipple. Wetness pooled between her thighs as he continued to work her, mouth on one breast and a hand on the other, pinching and licking until she was shaking under his ministrations and forced to brace herself with her left arm on the pulpit.

And then he was pulling away from her completely and anger sparked within her chest.

"I swear, if you're back tracking again I'm going-"

Before she could finish her threat about making him loath being a man if he had changed his mind again Killian dropped to his knees right in front of her and Emma's core clenched with the realization of what he was about to do.

"Oh, _God_ ," she whimpered as he reached under her dress to pull her underwear down, the tips of his fingers ghosting along her legs and creating goosebumps in their wake. Blue eyes dark with desire looked up at her through incredibly long lashes and Emma was certain she had never seen a more erotic sight than the one of Father Jones on his knees with her red thong pooling around her ankles.

"Not this time," he insisted, his voice rough and Emma's left hand curled around the lip of the pulpit at the sinful sound. With his eyes remaining on her face he deftly extracted her right heeled foot from her underwear and threw her left leg over his shoulder, the barely-there lace dangling from her ankle like a red flag of surrender. The faintest brush of his breath against her heated flesh as he moved closer had the thigh under his right hand trembling and her chest heaving with anticipation.

She was wrong. There was a more erotic sight than Father Jones on his knees and that was the priest on his knees with his dark head between her thighs as he devoured her like a man starving. There was no teasing, no kisses to her thighs or light nips that had her begging for him - he simply surged forward and went straight to turning her into a gasping ball of pleasure. His tongue was relentless as it ran across her folds, alternating between lapping and thrusting at her entrance. When he moved his attentions to her clit she couldn't stop the moan that rang out through the church, her right hand moving to grip his still wet hair. His answering groan of approval at her movement vibrated against her core and Emma was certain her right leg was about to give out completely with the way it was shaking.

It wasn't long before she felt that familiar pull low in her belly, her moans of pleasure becoming louder and longer the more he brought her toward her release. She had dreamed he would be good at this - hell, she had thought he would be excellent at it with the way his tongue would curl around that red sharpie but his actual talent at it blew her expectations completely out of the water. Just as she reached the edge of pleasure, her body tensing for the impending fall she felt his left hand move from her thigh to where his mouth was and thrust two fingers into her heat, curling them and unerringly hitting that spot so few men had been able to find as he sucked hard on her clit.

Her release washed her with enough intensity to steal her breath, leaving her only able to choke out something that sounded like his name as her walls clenched around his fingers. He worked her through it, gradually slowly the movement of his tongue and fingers until the last tremor had run through her body and she slumped heavily against the pulpit at her back. Forcing her eyes open she watched him gently lower her left leg to the ground and stand up, the tongue that had just done a number of sinful things to her darting out to lick his lips.

"Positively divine," he murmured and a fresh wave of desire shot through her. He looked absolutely wrecked - wet hair disheveled from where her hand had gripped it, eyes glassy with desire, her wetness coating the lower half of his face - and she knew she had to have him. Not caring that she would taste herself she surged forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss as her right hand fell between them to palm his erection. They both groaned into the kiss at the contact and Emma could feel the shudder that ran through him as she cupped him through his wet dress pants, her own desire sparking along her skin like electricity at the outline of him in her hand. Before she could reach up to undo his belt buckle however his hand was covering hers, stilling her movements as a strangled gasp escaped him.

"I won't last long if you keep that up, lass," he whispered desperately, bringing her hand up to place a feather light kiss on her palm.

She wanted to protest - how long had she been dreaming of tasting _him_? - but before she could utter one word he was kissing her again, plundering her mouth with desperate strokes of his tongue as he lifted her into his arms. Needing no encouragement she wrapped her legs around his waist and all thought of slipping his cock between her lips evaporated when her now bare center came into contact with his hardened length. Her hands tightened in the back of his shirt as he turned towards the side door that lead to the back hallway of the church, his steps faltering slightly when she grinded against him in her need to seek friction for the ache that was steadily growing between her thighs again. Growling against her lips at the movement he changed course mid-stride and seconds later she felt him deposit her on a wooden surface.

Breaking their kiss she looked around, realizing he had sat her on the altar table. "Here?" she asked breathlessly.

"Bed is too far away," he answered, reaching to hastily undo his belt.

Emma's heart beat faster at the realization that this was _finally_ going to happen. After all the subtle seduction and the back and forth of him denying it could ever happen they were going to have sex, and she couldn't find it in herself to care that it wasn't going to be in a bed.

This time when she reached for the collar at his throat, he didn't stop her.

Tossing the physical representation of his office to the side she grasped the wet material of his dress shirt and pulled, the buttons giving way under the force of her tug and scattering in all directions along the wooden floor. She only had a few seconds to admire the dip of his collarbone and the well defined muscles of his chest before a movement from below caught her attention, her eyes following the dark trail of hair that ran down his stomach to find he had already pushed his pants and boxers down just enough to free himself. His erection bobbed between them proudly and Emma's tongue subconsciously came out to lick her lips.

"Like what you see, love?"

Pulling her gaze away from the sight of his impressive cock she looked up to see the good Father smirking, clearly already knowing the answer to his question. Not bothering to give him a verbal answer she lay back on the altar table, unashamedly hiking the bottom of her dress higher and spreading her legs in invitation.

"Do you like what _you_ see, Father?"

She watched his eyes flicker down for the briefest of moments and then he was moving, sliding his arms under her legs so that the backs of her knees lay in the crook of his elbows with his hands firmly grasping her thighs. He slid her to the edge of the table, adjusting his hips so his hard length pressed against her core and then he paused, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his dark eyes raked up her body.

"God you are a truly sinful sight to behold," he murmured, barely flexing his hips so that only the tip of his cock slid into her.

Emma moaned, trying desperately to move her own hips to take him all the way in but his hands tightened on her thighs, preventing her from giving her body what it was craving. " _Killian_ … Christ, just fuck me already."

She had no sooner breathed her request when he surged forward, using the momentum of his own hips and the leverage he had on her thighs to sink fully into her with a hard thrust.

* * *

There were many things he regretted over the course of his thirty-two years of life - not being there when the cancer took his mother, being an obnoxious teenager as his brother raised him, approaching Milah at the Naval ball, not getting Belle out of England fast enough, the failure of his own physical strength that resulted in Liam's death - but the one thing Killian didn't regret was the ultimate breaking of his vows as he thrust into the welcoming heat of Emma Nolan's body.

It was like a piece of him that had been lost in the abyss slid back into place as he entered her, the wall he had been hiding behind ever since he donned the robes of priesthood falling away to the tightness surrounding his cock. He couldn't breathe for the first second after he buried himself to the hilt, the sensation of being in a woman for the first time in over eight years hitting him hard and almost causing him to come right then and there. Flexing his fingers against Emma's thighs he took a deep, shuddering breath and forced himself to focus on the woman before him to try to stave off his release.

She was the picture of absolute sin laid out on the altar table, legs spread wide with her dress hiked up, her breasts spilling out of the bunched fabric at the top. Her back was arched, head thrown back in pleasure and her loud moan of appreciation was almost unheard over the rumble of thunder that sounded from outside the church. The storm had finally knocked the power out as he slid into her, leaving the prayer candles that had been lit throughout the day as the only light source in the old church. He watched the candlelight flicker in her wet locks and cast dark shadows along the slender column of her throat and arms, giving her the perfect look of a debauched and fallen angel. He knew from his escapades before joining the priesthood that he was well-endowed and that it had been some time even for her so he remained still, giving her time to adjust to his size and calm his own desire so that he didn't end this before it really began.

After a few tense seconds her back lowered to the table and her eyes, momentarily lit from the flash of lightning behind him, found his.

" _Killian_ …"

His name moaned in desire at the same time she clenched her inner walls broke the proverbial dam. Pulling out almost the entire way he slammed back into her, using the hold he had on her thighs to keep her from sliding up the table. She moaned again and he repeated the action, taking her with long and hard thrusts that had her breasts bouncing with every forward snap of his hips. He knew he wouldn't last long, not after eight years celibacy but he was determined to feel her shatter around his cock before he found his own release so he changed the angle of his thrusts, searching for that spot he knew would bring her closer.

"Oh, _fuck_!"

_And there it was._

"Is that what you need?" he panted, maintaining the angle that had her gripping the sides of the table.

"Yes, just… _God_ , don't stop."

"I couldn't even if I wanted to," he confessed as he pounded into her in earnest, a feral grin pulling at his lips when she began to moan continuously as he drove into her over and over again. He could feel her inner walls begin to ripple around his cock and he knew she was close, his own release licking at the base of his spine. The force of his thrusts shook the table beneath her and sent the paten and chalice, the holy items he used during sacrament to give out the blood and body of Christ, tumbling from the other end of the table with a loud clatter that he paid no attention to as he tried to keep his release at bay for a few seconds longer.

"Emma, touch yourself," he begged, teeth sinking into his lower lip to distract himself from the pressure rapidly building in his abdomen.

She obeyed instantly and dropped her right hand past the hem of her dress to rub at her clit with fast and sure strokes. One, two, three swipes of her fingers and she shattered around him, her body tensing and mouth falling open on a silent scream. The clenching of inner walls around him was more than he could take and the release he had been keeping at bay exploded within him, hot bursts of pleasure shooting up his spine and radiating to the tips of his fingers as he emptied himself into her warm heat, his hips jerking with every pulse she wrung from him. When he had nothing more to give her he released her legs and fell forward, burying his face in the rain and sweat soaked fabric of her dress.

He waited for the guilt to hit him as he lay atop her, the sound of her racing heart echoing beneath his ear but it never came, only the feeling of being sated filling him as he breathed in her unique scent of vanilla and flowers. The time for feeling guilty about what he wanted had passed. He knew what they had done was a sin, even morally reprehensible considering she worked for him but he couldn't feel guilty about it - not after experiencing what it was like to have Emma Nolan.

He knew he should move, at the very least support his own weight so he wasn't crushing her but he couldn't seem to get his limbs to respond. She seemed in no hurry for him to move however, the fingers of her left hand slowly running through his hair in soothing swipes.

"Please tell me that wasn't a one time thing."

Chuckling at her breathless remark, Killian raised his head from her body and looked at her over the slopes of her still exposed breasts.

"Darling, that's only the beginning."


	12. The Highs and Lows of Giving In

Emma awoke to a low and persistent buzzing noise, her sleep filled mind taking a moment to realize it was her phone vibrating on the night stand next to her. Groaning at whoever had the audacity to text her at this time of the morning - the sun wasn't even up for God's sake - she fumbled for the offending piece of technology and cursed harshly as the bright artificial light momentarily blinded her. Squinting at the screen, she saw the notification of a new text from Elsa.

**Elsa: Had to get up to take a business call about the shop and wanted to check on you. If I haven't heard from you by ten I'm going to assume Graham is a serial killer in disguise and I'm calling your father. I promise to delete your internet history per our agreement if you're dead.**

Despite the fact her phone read 6:30 AM and she couldn't remember the last time she had been awake at this hour, Emma chuckled. Leave it to Elsa to be a worried mother hen and the friend she could rely on to make sure her family never saw her sordid internet searches. Unlocking her phone, she typed out a quick reply that she was alive and would call her later, making sure to end the text with their designated signal **#NotAProgramOnTheIDChannel** to let her know she was the one typing the message. Ignoring the combined twenty-three unread messages from Ruby and Tink she hit the power button on her phone and set it back on the night stand, confident that Elsa would let the other girls know she was okay.

Laying back down on the surprisingly comfortable bed, Emma took stock of her surroundings. Outside the large window night was just giving way to daylight and the grayness of the sky alluded to the fact that Storybrooke would see an overcast day as the storm continued to roll over the little town. Rain still fell but it was softer than the night before, a light drizzle that she knew from a lifetime of growing up in the south would turn the summer day even more humid than normal. Through the gray light that crept in she saw a tall wardrobe sitting in the far corner and a dresser that held a few picture frames and an assortment of items on top of it. Her dress and shoes were still on the floor from where she had taken them off the night before and she could just make out her bra and underwear lying atop Killian's dress pants that hung on the back of a chair, indicating he had picked up in the chapel at some point during the night.

Emma couldn't help but smile at the memory of what had caused him to have to clean up and what was responsible for the current pleasurable burn in her muscles.

After their desperate and long over due sex on the altar table Killian had taken her to his room, his hand on her lower back like a hot brand that spoke to his salacious promise of this only being the beginning. He had been ravenous once they crossed the threshold, taking her up against the bedroom door until the old wood rattled in its hinges with her legs wrapped around his waist and their mutual cries of ecstasy lost in the hot glide of their lips. With her body thoroughly sated and content she had fallen into his bed afterward, the emotional highs and lows of the day pulling her into a deep sleep before he returned from locking up the church. Sometime after midnight a rumble of thunder had awoken them and he had settled between her thighs, his mouth causing her to shout his name into the darkness again before they both fell back asleep.

Her daydreams about what he would be like in bed paled in comparison to the real thing. The man may have been celibate for eight years but he clearly hadn't lost what talent he held before taking his vows, a fact Emma thanked the universe for. She had been with a number of men in her short life, some horrendous and others above average, but none of them had been able to wring pleasure from her body like Father Jones had. He seemed to know what she needed before she even voiced it, perceptive to the sounds she made and determined to make sure she found her pleasure before his own, a trait very few of the men she had been with possessed.

Feeling desire tickle along her spine at the thought, Emma blindly reached across the bed with every intention of revisiting the priest's talented mouth but stilled when her hand came into contact with empty sheets. A turn of her head confirmed he wasn't there and moving the bed sheet to cover her breasts she sat up, a frown pulling at her lips. _Where the hell would he be at this time of the morning?_ She was about to survey the room for the missing priest when the sound of soft footsteps out in the hallway reached her ears. Looking towards the door she saw the man in question appear in the doorway, a coffee mug in his right hand and wearing nothing more than a pair of black boxer briefs.

_Holy shit._

She was fairly certain she had never seen such a mundane sight look so damn hot and she silently thanked whoever had invented the boxer brief because they _definitely_ flattered the priest's assets. Everything from his long legs to the jut of his hipbones was on full display and the desire that had momentarily abated at not finding him next to her roared back to life as she looked him up and down. His chest was gloriously bare and in the muted gray light she could see the little freckles that sporadically dotted his upper torso, something she hadn't been able to admire the night before in the darkness of the chapel. Even his hair was obscenely hot, the dark strands perfectly disheveled into a riotous mess that was just _begging_ to be pulled...

"Emma?"

Pulled from her appreciation of the male form currently on display in front of her, Emma forced her eyes up to his face. "Hm?"

The quirk of his eyebrow told her he hadn't missed her ogling him. "I said I wasn't expecting you to be awake yet," he said, moving to stand by the side of the bed she was on and holding the steaming cup out toward her. With him this close to her she could make out the slight swirling pattern of his chest hair and had to shake her head to keep from getting lost in the dip of his collarbones.

She accepted the cup with a grateful smile, hoping the coffee would distract her from the practically naked priest. "Oh, uh, Elsa sent me a text and it woke me up," she replied, gently inhaling the warm aroma to chase away the last tendrils of sleep that still stubbornly clung to her.

"Miss Arrendale say anything interesting at six in the morning?" he asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"She was just making sure I hadn't been murdered."

At the confused look on his face Emma chuckled. "Elsa and I have a fascination with crime documentaries and because of that we know anything can happen when you're out on a date. She thinks I spent the night with Graham and-"

"Wanted to make sure he wasn't secretly a serial killer who took unsuspecting women back to his cabin?"

"Pretty much," Emma replied with a laugh. "We've had a system since we were teenagers to let the other one know we were okay after a date or when we had been walking in an unknown part of a city."

"Haven't you known Humbert most of your life though?"

"You'd be surprised how many people are killed by someone they know," Emma replied sagely before taking a sip of her coffee. _God that man could make a cup of coffee._ "It's the ones you least suspect that you have to watch out for."

Killian hummed in understanding, his blue eyes twinkling in the gray morning light. "So you're not worried that _I'm_ a closeted serial killer?"

"I'm not buried beneath your garden yet so it's safe to say you aren't." Taking another sip of her coffee she noticed just how alert he seemed despite the ungodly hour. "Why are you up so early anyway?"

"I'm always up at this time of the morning."

Emma made a face over her mug. "Seriously?! I don't even think Granny gets up this early to start her famous french toast."

"I suppose that's one thing the Royal Navy and the priesthood have in common," he said with a deep chuckle. "Both require a man to rise before the sun to perform his duties, particularly if you're like me and prefer to have a morning run before breakfast."

"But you didn't go on a run this morning," Emma noted, taking in the lack of sweat on his bare body and the shower-free look to his hair.

"Well, no, I-uh…" A faint blush rose high on the priest's cheeks as he averted his eyes to the floor, his hand coming up to scratch behind his right ear in what Emma had learned weeks ago was a nervous tick. "After last night's… _activities_ a run didn't seem necessary," he finally finished, the flush to his cheeks darkening and traveling to the tips of his ears.

Emma bit her lip at his bashful response and let her gaze fall to the coffee in her hand, the gentle rain falling outside the only sound in the room as she mentally contemplated the priest. Although clearly a little shy when bringing up their more sinful activities, the differences in the man sitting in front of her and the one who had pushed her away after their kiss in the alley was like night and day. Even when he had been casually flirting with her before her drunken texts he would have never been so open about something that happened between them, like he wasn't a Catholic priest who preached the word of God but was instead an everyday man. _Well sex does change people,_ she thought reflectively while sipping at the warm caffeine in her hand. It was more than that, though. Whenever he use to make an overtly flirtatious remark he would act almost remorseful afterward and God knew any time prior to last night when they were in a sexual situation he would turn around and run as fast as he could. But he wasn't running now. In fact, he seemed fine with the line they had crossed and was making no move to change the situation, even being the first to broach the subject of what they had done.

Cupping the bottom of her mug with her right hand, she stared at the slightly blonde liquid as she asked, "So, no regrets?"

There was a beat of silence where all she could hear was the light drizzle of rain outside and then-

"No, no regrets."

Glancing up from her coffee she noted his eyes had moved from the floor to her, the uncertain expression he had worn seconds before gone and replaced with a confident and serious one.

"Really?"

"You seem surprised by that, lass."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Your track record of actions after physical contact with me leads me to question it."

Killian tilted his head slightly, studying her in that way that made her feel like he could see more of her than she wanted him to. It was unnerving to the woman who had spent the last ten years guarding the walls around herself, always careful never to let anyone get too close and see what lay behind them. But she kept her eyes locked on the shirtless priest, those very walls demanding she make sure he wasn't going to turn around and reject her physically again.

"I suppose I deserve that," he said at length, his eyes falling to the bed sheet Emma had tangled around her body. "I know I've reacted… poorly to us interacting over the last few weeks but that isn't going to happen again. I meant it last night when I told you this just was the beginning."

"So what's different about this time compared to the others?"

"Because I finally stopped fighting my desire for you," he replied sincerely, blue eyes rising to lock with her own. "You were right last night. I wanted you more than I wanted to remain faithful to my vows and I fought it. It's why I kept giving you mixed signals, pushing our physical boundaries more and more but then pulling away from what we had done. Last night when you started to walk away though, I knew if I didn't take what I really wanted I would never be able to have you and that was… unthinkable."

Smiling at his words, Emma turned to set her half empty mug on the nightstand. She had known since her revelation on her parent's back porch that he wanted her and his actions the previous night certainly spoke to how _much_ he desired to sleep with her. Actually hearing him say the words without also commenting about it being wrong, however, was like winning a long fought battle. Even more empowering was the fact he said it without his earlier shyness, a man confident in what had happened between them and where he wanted it to go.

Knowing he wouldn't reject her, Emma surged forward and captured his lips in a heated kiss while both of her hands moved to grip his already disheveled locks. Killian grunted in surprise at the initial contact but recovered quickly, his right hand tangling in her hair while his left arm pulled her as close to him as their opposite seating positions would allow. The sweep of his tongue into her mouth had Emma moaning almost obscenely and she would have been embarrassed for making such an indecent sound in a house of God if she didn't have every intention of making worse ones. He tasted like tea and mint, her movements becoming more fervent as she tried to taste the intoxicating combination over and over again. Desire pooled low in her belly like molten lava and she knew she had to have him again.

Tugging at the thin bedsheet that was trapped between them, Emma tossed the unwanted barrier to the floor once it was free and quickly moved to straddle the priest, their lips resuming their heated dance as she settled fully onto his lap. His arms instantly wrapped around her, the calloused hands that spoke of the life he had lived before joining the priesthood tracing her spine and causing goosebumps to erupt along her exposed skin despite the warmth of the room. Having his hands on her and his tongue plundering her mouth was amazing but Emma needed more. She _craved_ more. Her body moved on instinct, hips rolling forward to seek the friction that would calm the pounding in her blood and she broke the kiss with an audible gasp when her center found his hardening length.

" _Fuck._ "

"God above you're soaked," Killian groaned, his own hips jerking upward as she continued to undulate in his lap. He looked absolutely wrecked in that moment, his lips kiss swollen and eyes darkened to a midnight blue, little groans of pleasure escaping him with every movement of her hips. It was the dual sensation of the ridge of his cock and the fabric of his underwear sliding deliciously over her swollen clit that had her careening steadily towards a release she didn't want without him inside her.

"Please tell me the church is still locked," she breathed, praying to a God she didn't believe in that he hadn't unlocked it earlier. With as badly as she needed him she wasn't sure she could let him up to ensure no one came in and heard them.

"Mmhmm," was the priest's only response before he ducked his dark head and sucked her nipple into his mouth. Emma's back arched at the sensation, a moan falling from her lips as his tongue flicked at the pebbled bud with quick and precise movements. Her hips unconsciously picked up the rhythm he was using on her - three licks in rapid succession followed by a long one that had her toes curling - and just when she was certain he was done building her up his left hand slid from her back to palm her right breast, his thumb and index finger pinching the nipple until it bordered on the pleasurable side of painful.

" _Killian…_ "

Suddenly releasing her breast with an obscenely wet pop, Killian skimmed his lips up her chest to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, pausing to dip his tongue into her collarbone along the way.

"I know," he murmured into her skin, his breath hot and coming out just as strained as her own had. " _God_ … I need you too."

Emma nodded frantically, the movement of her hips momentarily ceasing as her hands fell from his shoulders to between them. She quickly extracted him from the confines of his underwear and gave him a few pumps, her clit throbbing as he groaned into her shoulder. The feeling of hardness encased in smooth skin had her licking her lips but she tampered down her desire - there would be time to taste him later. She needed him inside her more. Putting her left hand on his shoulder for balance, she rose to her knees and positioned him at her entrance. She was just about to sink down onto him when his hands gripped her hips and a choked sound escaped his lips.

" _Emma…_ "

"What's wrong?" she panted, his chest hair tickling her sensitive nipples as her chest rose and fell rapidly. "Do you not want to do this position?"

He chuckled, the sound strained. "On the contrary, you have no idea how many times I've imagined you riding me just like this." Emma frowned in confusion, not understanding why he had her stop if this was something he had fantasised about. He took a few deeps breaths, clearly trying to reign in his libido and placed a gentle kiss to her shoulder before lifting his head. Blue eyes still darkened with desire looked at her but beneath the hunger to have her she could see a spark of seriousness that had her holding her breath.

"We, uh- We were too caught up in the moment last night - well, both times, really - to discuss, ah… protection."

Emma blinked in surprise at the priest's words. "Oh." They _had_ been more concerned with fucking each other the night before instead of having the responsible and adult conversation, not that it would have changed the course of events for her.

"I'm clean," she replied, releasing his cock to balance her other hand on his shoulders. "I, um, I got tested after my last relationship ended. I have them at home if you want to see them."

"I have mine somewhere as well." At her raised eyebrow he chuckled. "I was tested as part of my last physical for the Royal Navy before being discharged and well, since then…"

"You've kind of been celibate."

"Aye. But I was deemed disease free before entering the priesthood."

Emma nodded. With the resistance he had shown in giving into his desire she knew she could trust that he had never done _this_ since taking his vows.

"And the other reason to use protection?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "It has been some time since I participated in something like this but I assume if that was a concern you would have stopped me last night."

"I'm on the shot so unless you just want to use them…"

"Not particularly but that isn't my call to make. It's yours, lass."

"No, I hate them." Shifting her hips slightly she found him still hard and bit her lip as his grip lessened just enough to let the tip of his cock slip into her. "So, we're good? Because right now I'd like to get back to the part where we were about to fuck."

"Sounds like a brilliant idea," he murmured, leaning forward to nip at the underside of her jaw while his left hand moved from her waist to resume palming her breast.

At the feeling of his thumb tracing her hardened nipple Emma began to slowly take him into her body, relishing every thick inch that slid into her. He was by far the largest man she had ever been with but her wetness eased his passage, and once she was fully seated on his lap again she couldn't help the sigh of pleasure she breathed into his dark hair. _This_ is what her body had been craving since she saw him in the doorway of his bedroom in nothing but his underwear. The stretch and burn, the feeling of being so full that she thought she would come from having him inside her alone. She could hear Killian groan as she took him in and the tightness to his shoulders beneath her fingers, the muscles tense while he clearly tried to give her time to adjust.

She began to move slowly, her hips rolling back and forth almost languidly but it wasn't long before the pounding in her blood returned, prompting her to increase her pace to the frantic rhythm they had been at before he stopped them. Killian wasn't idle, however. The hand on her right breast continued to alternate between lightly squeezing her and plucking at the hardened bud, her breath hitching when he timed the downward roll of her hips with a pinch. His lips worked a path down her jaw to the side of her neck and her blunted nails dug into his broad shoulders with every nip and suck he gave to the tender flesh there. With every undulated movement she made the coil of desire tightened more and more, the pleasure between her thighs intensifying when he thrusted up to meet her until she was _right there_ , the cusp of her release just within reach.

"That's it," he panted against her neck, his teeth scraping along her pulse point. "Take what you need, Emma."

Heeding his words, she changed the angle of her hips and gasped when she felt him hit the spot inside her that had stars appearing in bursts of colors behind her closed eyelids. The hand on her left hip helped her move against him even harder and their mutual sounds of pleasure filled the small room, her moans rising in pitch as his grunts became lost in her sweat soaked skin. It was the sensation of everything - his left hand plucking her nipple, the feeling of his teeth and tongue on her neck, and the movement of his cock inside her - that finally sent her tumbling headlong into an intense orgasm. Her mouth opened on a silent scream as the pleasure radiated from her core to the tips of her fingers and toes, wave after wave of it sweeping over her and stealing her breath.

Killian cursed when her walls began to squeeze him and she felt his left hand fall from her breast to the mattress below, giving him the leverage he needed to thrust harder and chase his own release. Three powerful drives of his hips later she felt him still beneath her, his entire body going taunt and her name a fervent prayer that was groaned into her shoulder as he bathed her walls with his release. Minutes later, when the last shiver of pleasure had coursed through her and his hips had ceased rutting into her, they untangled themselves and fell backwards onto the mattress side by side.

"Well if that's the reaction I get when I bring you coffee remind me to do it more often."

Emma snorted, the back of her right hand playfully smacking Killian's chest.

"I mean, I _do_ love coffee," she remarked, her chest rising and falling rapidly while she fought to catch her breath. "And I certainly wouldn't be against showing my gratitude in that form if I'm properly supplied at all times."

"Duly noted," the priest said, chuckling as he rose from the bed with some effort and made his way towards the wooden dresser. "Would you like a refill before-"

The sudden blaring of Duran Duran's _Hungry Like A Wolf_ filled the small room and Emma cursed under her breath. _Leave it to Ruby to have the_ _ **worst**_ _timing of any human being other than her mother._ Ignoring Killian's raised eyebrow - hey, the priest wasn't the only one who liked 80's music - she sat up and retrieved her phone from the night stand.

"What do you want, Rubes?" she asked after answering the call, normal phone etiquette going out the window when her post-orgasm bliss was being interrupted.

"Shit, you actually answered!" came the brunette's stunned reply and Emma rolled her eyes.

"You called me. Why _wouldn't_ I answer?"

"I half expected you to be busy enjoying round two or three with the hot Irishman, to be honest."

Emma's eyes went to Killian as he headed towards the bathroom, a pair of black dress pants and a purple button down shirt slung over his left arm. The priest gave her an understanding smile and nod of encouragement to continue her conversation before quietly closing the door behind him.

_Well she had certainly enjoyed a third round but it wasn't with an Irishman._

"What are you even doing up this early?" Emma asked, the muffled sound of water striking porcelain telling her that Killian had started the shower. She was hoping to steer the conversation away from how she had spent the night, at least for now. The girls would learn soon enough that she hadn't slept with Graham and the last thing she wanted was to dodge Ruby's inquisition over the phone. "It's your day off and you're up before even your grandmother would be?"

A disgruntled huff filled Emma's right ear. "Elsa woke me and Tink up when she tried having a shouting match at five o'fucking dark in the morning with one of the ice cream shop's vendors."

"He was trying to over price us on rocky road ice cream!" came Elsa's faint shout through the phone and Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing at the unamused sound Ruby made in response.

"And you didn't demand the best coffee in Storybrooke as payment for her waking you up so early on your day off?"

"Oh, I did. Trust me. She's getting ready now to go get it. Do you want her to bring you something back for when Graham drops you off?"

Emma cursed internally. She had never planned on spending the night with Graham, even before their date had shown her there was nothing romantic between them. Her plan had been to walk to Tink's house under the cover of darkness and have one of the girls take her home the next morning, keeping how her date went and where she stayed away from the more nosey residents of Storybrooke. What she hadn't planned on was following Father Jones to the church or still being there the next morning which now left her with the predicament of _how_ to get from the church to Tink's house without arising suspicion.

She could, in theory, still make her way to the other blonde's house without any physical trouble despite the weather but Emma had grown up in Storybrooke. Her date dress from the night before was not exactly _'walking to a friend's house on a Sunday morning'_ attire and it would only take one person seeing her to start asking questions. It wouldn't be hard for any of the residents to learn she hadn't spent the night with Graham and then that would raise suspicions as to who she _had_ spent the night with - and that was the last thing she wanted to do. Walking back home to retrieve her bug was out of the question for the same reasons and she couldn't wear any of Killian's clothes…

"Emma?"

She visibly started at the sound of Ruby's voice in her ear. "Um, sorry, I was thinking about something."

"Oh I bet you were," Ruby teased and Emma could practically see the large, wolfish grin that accompanied the reply. "Remembering your awesome night aside, do you want Elsa to pick something up for you?"

"Actually, can I talk to Elsa real quick, Rubes?"

"Sure, give me a second."

Emma's mind raced as the sounds of Ruby making her way through Tink's house filtered in through her cellphone. She couldn't walk to Tink's house without arousing suspicion but no one would think twice about seeing her in Elsa's car, even at this time of the morning.

A slight shuffling noise could be heard over the phone and then Elsa's voice was filling her ear. "Hey, I'm just about to head out the door. What's up?"

"Can you pick me up when you go out to get Ruby's coffee?"

"Uh… yeah, of course," Elsa instantly replied, though it was clear by the tone of her voice that Emma's question had momentarily caught her off guard. "Graham can't give you a ride?"

"Not... really."

Elsa scoffed. "Not that I won't come get you but why can't he give you a ride? I knew it had been some time for him but he couldn't have forgotten that common manners dictate you at least give the girl who just spent the night in your bed a-"

"I'm not with Graham."

Emma winced as silence descended on the other end of the call. This wasn't _exactly_ how she had meant to break the news to her friend but she didn't want Elsa to think less of Graham when he had done nothing wrong.

"You're not?"

"No."

"Oh." The faint sound of a door opening and closing filtered in over the call. "Did you go back home last night?"

Emma frowned at the sudden loudness of her friend's voice. "No - Elsa, where are you?"

"I'm in Tink's hall closet."

"Why on Earth are you in there?"

"Because I assumed you didn't want the other girls to know you _aren't_ with Graham otherwise you would have mentioned it to Ruby."

"Very perceptive of you."

"Yes, well, those would be my 'motherly instincts' as Ruby likes to call them," Elsa said with a quiet huff. "So if you're not at home or Graham's cabin where are you?"

Emma's eyes swept over the priest's immaculate bedroom, her gaze landing on the white clerical collar Killian had set on top of his dresser after he picked up their clothes from the chapel. _Well, she couldn't exactly tell Elsa the truth..._

"Can I plead the fifth on that for right now?" she asked, grateful that Elsa didn't have her ability to tell when someone was lying.

"Well you _can_ but it's not going to stop me from asking the question."

"Touche," Emma murmured.

Elsa sighed. "Where do you want me to pick you up then?"

A grateful smile pulled at the corner of Emma's lips - _this_ was why she had asked Elsa to pick her up and not Ruby. While she loved her brunette friend as much as the other two, Ruby would have instantly launched into a thousand questions as to why she wasn't with Graham and been relentless in finding out where she was. Elsa, on the other hand, never pushed for more information than the person was willing to give at that moment and was the perfect person to call when you needed assistance without a barrage of questions or judgement.

"You know that bench by the pond that's on the Eastern side of the park?"

"Yeah, give me about thirty minutes and I'll be there."

"Thanks, Elsa."

Ending the call, Emma noted that it was just past seven. Even the most devout of Storybrooke's Catholics wouldn't be arriving for Sunday Mass for another hour which meant she could safely make her way to the park that sat next to the church without being seen. The dreary weather ensured there would be no one inside the park at least. Her friend might not have made the connection between Emma still being in her date dress and sneaking out of the church if she had told Elsa to pick her up there - a friend screwing the local priest would have _definitely_ been the last place her own mind went - but it was a risk she wasn't willing to take.

No, it was best to be overtly cautious where her affair with Father Jones was concerned.

* * *

Setting his rosary and Bible on his desk, Killian quickly unbuttoned his cassock and pulled the priestly garment from his body before laying it over the back of the leather chair and moving towards the window in his office.

Mass that morning had been a mental whirlwind, the first in over a thousand sermons in which he had walked to the pulpit not knowing exactly what he would say. The speech he had spent the last week preparing about finding spiritual strength in trying times didn't resonate with him the same way it had the day before, not when he could still recall the weight of Emma in his lap as she rode them both to completion. Instead he had winged it, preaching about the beauty of life and what God had created, pulling on the feelings he had felt the previous night to give weight to his words. He had been afraid the parishioners of Storybrooke would see right through him, as if their was a red letter stitched to his holy robes that broadcasted the sin he had indulged in but none seemed the wiser to the fact that the priest passionately preaching to them had lain with a woman not two hours before stepping up to the pulpit.

Killian chuckled and shook his head - he had finally done it. After weeks of denying his primal desires he had given in to the temptation that was Emma Nolan - and not a single part of him regretted it. Even now, after delivering one of the most passionate sermons he had ever given, he couldn't find it in himself to feel the least bit ashamed for the sinful activities he had engaged in the night before. He knew it was a sin, had from the moment he collapsed against her after spending himself inside her but he didn't care. How could something that felt so _right_ ever be wrong?

Unlocking the chest high window, he slid the lower pane up and sighed as the sound of gentle but steady rain filled the quiet office.

Killian knew most people would say he was letting his lower anatomy control his feelings on the matter, and perhaps to an extent they would be right. Hadn't he preached numerous times that it was easy to excuse a sin when you were in the midst of enjoying it? It had been easier to remain chaste and true to his vows when he hadn't yet experienced Emma's heat wrapped around him but the truth was he had started to fall down the path of sin long before he ever physically slid into her welcoming body. He had been drawn to her from the moment he met her, the path that had lead him to this moment now crystal in its inevitability to him since he had given in.

Propping his arms on the window sill, Killian watched the much needed rain water his small garden as his mind drifted back to a few hours ago...

_Opening his eyes to darkness, he became aware of a multitude of things all at once. It was still raining - albeit lighter than the night before, more an ambient noise - the room was warm without the overhead fan going, and he was stark naked beneath the bed sheet pooled at his waist. The last one had him frowning in confusion even as his bare legs shifted beneath the cotton sheet. Why was he naked? He hadn't slept without at least sleep pants since before joining the Royal Navy. Even on the hottest of Southern nights when the humidity seeped into every particle of air and his very skin, he always wore them._

_And then he remembered. Flashes of pale skin and cries of passion, the warmth of a body accepting his fingers even as his hair was pulled by her own, the sound of the bedroom door rattling as his hips began to lose their rhythm…_

_Needing to see her to know it hadn't all been a vivid dream, Killian quickly flicked the bedside lamp on and turned to his left, his breath catching at the sight revealed to him by the artificial light. Emma was laying on her back with her face turned towards him, features relaxed in peaceful slumber and her hair spread out in a mass of tangled curls on the pillow like a golden waterfall. She was there, the picture of an ethereal being that reminded him of the depictions of angels in stained glass windows and even the slight smudges of the eye makeup she had applied for her date couldn't take away from the breathtaking beauty before him._

_Her presence in his bed spoke to the undeniable fact that the images flashing through his mind hadn't been a figment of his over action and lustful imagination, that the night before really had happened in all its sinful and pleasurable glory._

_Unable to help himself, he let his gaze slip down her body to take in the graceful line of her neck and delicate collarbone before landing on her breasts. They were bare to him as the thin bedsheet rested low on her hips and he traced their gentle slopes with his eyes, remembering the weight of them in his hand and just how responsive she had been when he plucked the dusty pink nipples at their centers. His own body instantly responded to the memory and visual before him, cock hardening beneath the bed sheet as desire shot through him to center between his legs._ _**By God she was an erotic sight to behold.** _ _He could still taste her on his tongue from when he had awoken in the middle of the night to slake his thirst between her thighs and his length pulsed at the memory._

_As much as he wanted to kiss her awake and slide into her warmth again he refrained himself. He had already had her twice the night before and he hadn't exactly been careful with her either time, a fact she had obviously not minded but it didn't mean she wasn't sore after their activities. He imagined she would want to talk as well about the new development between them. She had become a bit of an open book to him over the past few weeks and it was clear there was something in her past that made rejection all the more personal to her, like it cut to the very fabric of her soul. He knew after all the times he had pulled away from her that she was going to need verbal confirmation he wouldn't do it again and he was more than willing to ease her mind on the issue._

_Carefully sliding out of the bed so as not to wake her, he quietly made his way to the dresser and pulled on a fresh pair of boxers. It was just after 5:30 and the least he could do was ensure there was fresh coffee when she woke up - and God knew he needed some English tea._

A low rumble of thunder brought Killian back to the present and his eyes scanned the overcast sky, hoping Emma had made it to the park bench safely. She had been back in her date dress when he got out of the shower and had quickly relayed the plan for Elsa to pick her up on the Eastern side of the park. It hadn't been his favorite idea, not with the weather the way it was and her very non-rainproof outfit. She had made a valid point however about not wanting to risk Elsa becoming suspicious - _"It would be a shame for our affair to blow up in our faces less than twenty fours after its started, Father,"_ \- but he wished she had taken him up on his offer to lend her more weather appropriate clothes. She had even refused the use of his umbrella, forcing the gentleman in him to stand at the kitchen door and watch her walk across the manicured lawn to the park with nothing to protect her from the elements.

He made a mental note to remind her to covertly bring a few items for such an occasion next time, the thought making him grin like the Cheshire cat. There would be a next time - and many.

Checking the time on his phone, he moved from the window and grabbed the very umbrella Emma had declined to use, a lightness to his steps and a low whistle of Queen's _Bohemian Rhapsody_ on his lips as he left to meet his sister for their weekly Sunday lunch.

* * *

"You know at some point you're going to have to tell me where you were last night."

Looking away from the rain that trailed down the passenger side window in miniature rivers, Emma turned to see Elsa with her hands loosely wrapped around the steering wheel and eyes trained straight ahead on the world's longest red light. The business manager hadn't said one word to her since she picked Emma up by the park bench ten minutes ago, just raised a curious eyebrow at her rumpled and slightly damp dress before reaching for one of the to-go coffees in the front cup holder and handing it to her. She had welcomed the silence, using the time to try to figure out what she was going to tell her friends.

Not that she had come up with anything they would believe.

"I suppose warm and in my own bed wouldn't fly for an answer, would it?"

Elsa glanced at her from the corner of her eye before turning her gaze back to the red light. "Not when I pick you up from a random location and you're wearing the dress from the night before."

"Figured as much," Emma mumbled as the light finally turned green and the car started moving forward.

"Did things go badly with Graham?"

Emma shook her head. "No, not at all. The date was… nice."

Elsa hummed thoughtfully but otherwise remained silent. When it was clear the other blonde had nothing more to say - or at least nothing Emma wanted to hear in that moment - she turned her attention back to the rain falling against the passenger window. She knew she couldn't remain vague on her whereabouts for much longer, especially once they reached Tink's house and she revealed to everyone she hadn't spent the night with Graham. Ruby alone would take up the charge to find out just where she had been for the past twelve hours. Elsa almost certainly already knew she hadn't slept with Graham - why else would Emma have needed picking up at a location that was a forty-five minute drive from Graham's cabin? - but there was a difference in knowing she hadn't stayed with the deputy and _not_ knowing where she had been instead.

And that was the problem.

There was no place she could have stayed the night other than her own home if she didn't go to Graham's place. Emma had no other friends in Storybrooke other than the three girls that she could have been with and the only family she had besides her parents was her father's drug addicted and criminal twin brother who didn't even have a home to call his own. She couldn't say she had spent the night at Granny's either. Not only would Granny have given her a spare set of clothes, but all it would take to unravel _that_ lie was Ruby making a simple phone call to her grandmother.

Quicker than she would had liked they arrived in Tink's subdivision and pulled into the driveway of the salon owner's gray and white two story craftsman style house. Reaching towards the driver's side visor, Elsa hit the remote garage door opener that Tink must have given her so that she didn't have to walk in the rain and a frown pulled at Emma's lips when Elsa pulled her light blue BMW 135i next to Tink's green Nissan Leaf, the only other car in the garage.

"I thought Ruby was here."

Elsa threw her a questioning look as she started to put the three remaining to-go cups in the cup holder the cafe had provided. "She caught a ride with me to your house yesterday or did you forget?"

"Guess I did," Emma murmured, ignoring Elsa's raised eyebrow as both of them climbed out of the car and headed into the house. _Well a night - and morning - of fantastic sex with a priest will do that to you._

Entering through the garage door that lead directly into Tink's foyer, Emma was immediately assaulted with the familiar scent of sweat pea mixed with a hint of coconut and the low murmur of the tv as the local station discussed some new initiative Mayor Mills was trying to implement.

"Elsa, is that you?" came Tink's voice from her study that sat directly across from the garage door.

"Yup, and I bring coffee and one slightly damp Storybrooke deputy," Elsa responded loudly and an excited "Whoop!" sounded in the direction of the kitchen.

"Yeah, Ruby has been impatiently waiting for you to get here," Tink said with a laugh, remaining out of sight in her study. "I've got to finish this work email but your overnight bag is in your guest room. Figured that would be more comfortable than the dress you were in last night."

"Breakfast will be done in five minutes," Ruby added as Emma started up the staircase. "And I expect a full report of your night with Graham!"

Emma paused on the lower landing and turned towards Elsa with a confused look. "I thought they knew I didn't stay with Graham because you picked me up?" she whispered, mindful that Tink's study was close by and the door wasn't shut.

Elsa gave her the patent 'Mother Elsa' look the other blonde reserved for when her, Tink, or Ruby were acting childish.

"I told them I was picking you up and they _assumed_ it was from Graham's cabin. It's on you to tell them other wise," her friend whispered back before smiling innocently and heading towards the living room.

Emma stared after Elsa for a full thirty seconds before groaning inwardly and making her way up the stairs. _Of course._ Elsa would be the first one there if any of them called for assistance but she wouldn't cover for them when it came to the other two friends. That was on the person she assisted and Emma was reminded of a time when her father had refused to tell her mother what had happened on a stormy Storybrooke night, leaving Emma to be the adult and break the news to the perfect school teacher.

Elsa really was the parent of the four of them.

Reaching the second floor Emma turned right and headed towards the guest room that been designated hers since Tink bought the house five years ago, even though she had only stayed in it once before her permanent move back to Storybrooke. On top of the immaculate made bed was the bag she had packed the night before and given to Tink in the event she didn't go home with Graham. Ruby had seen no reason for her to pack it but at least her other friends had agreed with her that it might be needed, even if both of them had been silently hoping they were wrong.

Sighing, she sat her coffee and clutch on the nightstand and began pulling clothes from the small duffle bag. Ruby was going to take the news of there being no romantic connection between her and Graham the worst she mused as she kicked off her heels. She knew her brunette friend had her heart set on the two deputies forming a relationship, or at least boning as she had mentioned five million times last night. Tink would be disappointed there wasn't going to be a grand love story and Elsa would accept the situation with that calm demeanor of hers without prying too deeply. She knew in the end they would all understand and support her reasons for not continuing to date Graham - it was the whereabouts of where she had been the night before that was going to cause the most headache for her to explain and require her to out right lie to her friends.

That was going to be the hardest part and was the reason for the ball of tension forming in her stomach as she stripped out of her dress and under clothes.

She didn't want to lie to her best friends. Since they were kids they had never kept huge secrets from each other, no matter how painful it was. All three of them knew the lengths she had almost gone to for Neal and the promiscuous streak she had fallen into during those first few years living in New York. And yet here she was, about to keep a secret from them because there was no other choice. None of them would be able to understand what drove her to sleep with a priest and she knew they wouldn't condone it happening again. They may not be as as devout as her mother but all three of them were still Catholics. Even Ruby who was the most relaxed of them when it came to certain tenants of the faith - Lord knows she didn't practice abstinence before marriage - would be appalled by what she had done.

But there was no way she _wasn't_ going to have sex with Father Jones again she thought as she pulled on a fresh pair of underwear and comfortable sports bra. Ruby certainly wouldn't let her stop if she could tell her just how amazing the man was in bed. If she gave in to the guilt and told them they'd insist she end the affair, and although she hated the idea of lying to them, she wasn't ready to give that up yet. It was best that she tell them the truth about her date with Graham and somehow come up with an excuse as to where she had been last night - which she still didn't have. Once she was in her black leggings and _Storybrooke Sheriff's Department_ tank top she quickly ran a brush through her hair, pulling the damp and untangled locks into a loose braid before grabbing her coffee and heading downstairs to face the inevitable music.

She wasn't one bit surprised to find them waiting for her in the living room, the low conversation they had been having ceasing immediately as three pairs of eyes watched her cross the room and sit in the chair closest to the three paned window. Ruby and Tink sat diagonally across from her on opposite ends of the light gray couch, Tink with her legs pulled underneath her and Ruby cross legged, both of them holding the to-go cups Elsa had brought back. Tink, use to early morning starts since she owned the salon, looked as serene as ever in white pajama shorts and a faded pink Disney shirt with her blonde hair piled high in a messy bun. In a black tank top paired with her red pajama bottoms Ruby looked a little worse for wear from her abrupt awakening earlier that morning, even with the best coffee in Storybrooke now in her possession. Elsa had taken the other arm chair on the opposite side of the room and was currently staring at Emma with a raised eyebrow as she drank her coffee, the oversized white shirt she had worn in the car discarded to reveal a dark green _Storybrooke University_ t-shirt.

"So, how was it?" Tink asked excitedly, breaking the silence that had descended while practically bouncing on the couch cushion.

Deciding the best way to lead her friends into the eventual let down was to begin with the truth, Emma replied, "It was nice."

"There's that phrase again," Elsa murmured around her coffee lid as Ruby scoffed.

" _Nice_? You're going to have to do better than that, Em. Details - _now_."

As the rain continued to lightly fall from the overcast sky Emma walked them through every second of her date. She told them about Graham continuing to be the perfect gentleman all night by opening her car door and pushing her chair in at the restaurant; how he had kept his eyes relatively on her face throughout the evening aside from the occasional glance at her cleavage, a remark that earned her a wink and " _You're welcome_ " from Ruby. Bo Peep's restaurant was described in detail at Tink's request, everything from the interior design to the quality of the food and Ruby grinned from ear to ear when Emma divulged the kiss that had happened outside the restaurant. She intentionally trailed off after telling them that, leaving it open ended and vague like the final scene in a movie that didn't reveal what happened to the characters before fading to black.

"And that was the date," she finished, taking a sip of her still steaming coffee as her three friends digested what she had told them.

"Well, that's nice and all, but how was he in bed?" Ruby prodded, wasting no time in trying to get the details she really wanted.

Tink playfully slapped Ruby's arm at the brunette's question. "Ruby! It's not always about sex." Turning her attention back to Emma the other blonde smiled warmly. "It sounds like the date was wonderful, Em."

"It was," Emma agreed, thankful she at least didn't have to lie to her friends about that. She may not be entering into a relationship with Graham but she had genuinely enjoyed her time with him.

Elsa sat her to-go cup on the small end table next to her chair and fixed Emma with her most motherly look. "But?"

"There is no but, Elsa. She had a great date and then spent the night with a hunky Irishman - details of which _are_ as important as the actual date," Ruby remarked with a side eye towards Tink.

As Ruby and Tink began to argue over the importance of sex and date details Elsa continued to look at Emma, her blue eyes soft but authoritative. Emma knew the lighter blonde wasn't going to let her off the hook that easily, not with the knowledge that she hadn't spent the night with Graham. When Emma continued to sit silently in her chair with the words stuck in her throat Elsa gave her the push that guaranteed she would have to spill the beans.

"Tell them, Emma."

"Tell us what?" Tink asked, verbally pulling away from her conversation with Ruby to look between Elsa and Emma. "What's going on?

At Elsa's nod of encouragement, Emma sighed and looked to her two now confused friends. _It's like ripping a bandaid off, Nolan._

"I didn't spend the night with Graham."

There was a split second of stunned silence and then Ruby and Tink, as expected, launched into a million questions at once.

"Well why the hell not?!"

"Did he say something at dinner that turned you off?"

"How do you say no to _that_?"

"Were you just not comfortable taking that step yet?"

"Seriously, Emma - _how did you not sleep with him_?"

"Alright, alright!" Elsa shouted over the barrage of questions, instantly falling into the role of moderator. "I'm sure Emma has her reasons."

"What _possible_ reason could there-"

At Elsa's hard glare Ruby stopped mid-sentence and huffed quietly, gesturing toward Emma with the hand that wasn't holding her to-go cup. "Alright, Ems. Why not?"

"There just wasn't a romantic connection there," she answered honestly. When Ruby opened her mouth to say something else Emma barrelled on. "There wasn't, Rubes. I know all of you wanted there to be but it- it just wasn't there. I gave it my best shot but I can't _make_ something be there that isn't."

"But you seemed to have such a good time," Tink quietly noted.

Emma nodded. "I did. I enjoyed spending time with Graham but it was no different than how we are at work. Our conversation wasn't engaging in the slightest bit. We talked about the same things we do when we're at the station and the few times we did veer from those topics and into more 'get to know me' territory, it became blatantly obvious we aren't meant to be in a relationship."

"I'm playing devil's advocate here, but opposites _do_ attract," Elsa interjected with a neutral tone.

"They do, but not on core desires. Graham wants to stay in Storybrooke and raise a family and I… You all know it's not what I want. It never has been."

Tink and Elsa nodded. It had always been evident, even before the incident with Neal, that Emma wanted more than their small hometown could offer and she had never hid those desires to travel and see the world from her friends.

"But you guys kissed," Ruby mumbled, clearly still clinging to the hope that there had been something there between her and Graham.

"He kissed _me_ and honestly, there wasn't even a spark when that happened. It was like kissing a friend, not a lover."

"No desire to sleep with him whatsoever? Even in a one night stand capacity?"

Emma shook her head at her dark haired friend. "I may have had a crush on him as a teenager but as an adult, I can't see him as anything more than a coworker and friend. You know me, I'm completely for one night stands but if I had had one with Graham it… It would have been weird and I value his friendship too much to ruin it."

"I think that was very mature of you," Elsa said with an approving smile. "It shows you do know what you want out of a partner and that you aren't willing to settle like you have in the past - case in point, Walsh. I fully support you if you don't think there's anything there."

Tink nodded. "I do as well. I was hoping there was something between you and Graham because out of everyone _you_ deserve to find happiness, Emma. I want that for you more than anything."

Emma smiled in thanks at her two friends before turning her attention to the last member of their little group. "Ruby?"

The brunette continued to stare at her for a long minute and just when Emma was certain she was going to get another round of questions Ruby rolled her eyes good naturedly.

"Of course I support you, Em. It's your body and decision after all. I'm just… having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact there was no physical connection there at all when the two of you look… well, you're gorgeous and he's down right hot! You deserve a good lay."

An image of Father Jones taking her on the altar table, his face cast in flickering light from the prayer candles flashed through Emma's mind at Ruby's last sentence and she quickly shook it away, her thighs clenching at the erotic memory.

"It's okay, Rubes. You're just projecting your own need to get laid onto Emma after a particularly long dry spell," Elsa teased, earning her an affectionate middle finger from the brunette.

Laughing at both of them, Tink stood from the gray couch and stretched. "Well, since there's no saucy details for Ruby to pry out of-"

"Wait just a damn minute."

All eyes turned to Ruby who was looking at Emma, her own eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"If you weren't with Graham last night where the hell were you?"

"And that's the million dollar question," Elsa murmured, crossing her arms over her chest and raising a finely plucked eyebrow in Emma's direction.

The ball of anxiety Emma had forgotten about as they talked tightened at Ruby's words. "I, uh-"

Tink's eyes widened comically. "That's a _really_ good question, Ruby. She certainly didn't come back here."

"She didn't stay at the inn because Granny would have called me asking what had happened," Ruby added, uncrossing her legs and scooting forward on the couch. "And you wouldn't have needed a ride from Elsa if you were home where your own car was…"

Emma swallowed thickly under friends' piercing gazes, her hand subconsciously tightening on her to-go cup. She knew the longer she sat there in silence the more suspicious her friends would become but her mind was completely blank on where she could have been that wasn't where she _had_ been. The girl scout cabins that were on the northern side of the park were locked up tight when not in use….

"Elsa, where did you pick her up?" Tink asked, turning her head so fast towards the other blonde that her messy bun actually swayed a little with the movement.

…Gold owned the other inn in town and there was no way they would believe she had went _there_...

"The bench by the pond."

Ruby's nose crinkled. "The only thing close to that is the church-"

"The police station," Emma blurted out, the answer coming to her when she looked down in a panic and saw the words emblazoned on her tank top. It wasn't a completely far fetched answer. The station _was_ relatively close to the park if she had taken the back alleys and as a deputy she had a spare key. With it being the weekend no one would have been there anyway unless someone paged Leroy who was on call which also meant there wasn't someone who could say she hadn't really been there.

"The police station?" Elsa dead panned, giving her a look that clearly said she didn't believe that answer.

Emma nodded, feeling both elation that she had come up with a reasonable place she had been and despair for the lie she had begun to tell her friends.

"But why?" Tink asked. "You had planned on coming over if things didn't go well anyway, so why stay at the police station versus coming here?"

"I just needed some alone time to think," Emma responded, the lie tasting like ash in her mouth. "There was so much expectation surrounding my date with Graham and when I didn't feel anything romantic with him I… I wanted to make sure I was making the right decision, that I wasn't doing the Emma Nolan thing again of running before _really_ giving it a chance."

"That's completely understandable," Ruby conceded with an understanding smile and Emma's gut wrenched at her friend's sympathetic look. She hated having to lie to them. Ruby and her shared a similar past when it came to their romantic relationships with broken hearts and betrayed trust. Pulling on those shared experiences to strengthen her own lie made Emma feel like the shittest of friends and sick to her stomach because she had betrayed Ruby's unspoken trust.

"Well, just know next time you can do that here with us and we'll understand," Tink added before sighing. "Now that we know everything that happened, let's eat breakfast before it gets colder."

Emma took a discreet, cleansing breath as her three friends made their way towards the kitchen. _Well, she had done it._ She had lied to her best friends and preserved the affair she had started with Father Jones. The guilt of her actions sat heavily in her throat but Emma swallowed against it, reminding herself over and over again silently why none of them could ever find out-

"I know you were with someone."

Pulled abruptly from her thoughts, Emma turned her head to see Elsa standing by the coffee table, her arms still crossed and looking intently at Emma.

"What?"

"Last night. I know you weren't at the police station but with someone."

Heart pounding rapidly against her chest, Emma feigned ignorance. "Elsa, I wasn't with anyone. I spent the night at the police station - alone."

Shaking her head so that her long braid swayed with the movement Elsa replied, "Ruby and Tink may believe that spiel but I don't, Emma."

"And why do you think I'm lying?" she asked, forcing her face to remain emotionless despite the fact she was panicking on the inside. _There's no way Elsa could know about her and Killian. Absolutely no way._

Elsa shrugged. "Just a feeling I have. You've been acting strange since I picked you up, like you're warring with yourself about something and you were very hesitant to tell us where you had been. If you really were at the police station why not tell me in the car?"

"Because it would have required me to explain why I hadn't went home with Graham and I really didn't want to tell that twice, not when I knew the Inquisition that Ruby would lead after I told her," Emma replied as she stood, injecting just a fraction of the truth into her answer to hopefully throw Elsa off of the trail. She was grateful her friend didn't have any tangible proof but Elsa was a stubborn woman, and she knew first hand that the other blonde never gave up when she had a gut feeling about something.

"Alright, say I by that. Then why not have me pick you up at the station?"

"I could lose my job if Regina ever found out. I _may_ be the sheriff's daughter but she would not take kindly to a town employee using the station in a non official capacity. You've met her. Besides, if I had been with someone don't you think I would have told y'all? There would be no reason for me to keep that a secret."

Elsa continued to stare at her for a long moment after Emma threw yet another lie to her friend, internally horrified to find that the more she told the easier it became. The sounds of Ruby and Tink pulling the breakfast plates from the oven could be heard behind Elsa, the two women laughing over something Ruby had said as china and glassware clinked against the marble countertop.

"I suppose you're right," Elsa said at length, her tone indicating that she still didn't completely believe Emma's story. "If you _had_ been with someone it would mean you spent the entire night with them and that's not something you do."

Emma stared after her friend as Elsa turned and headed towards the kitchen, her own bare feet rooted to the white carpet of the living room.

 _Elsa was right._ Emma Nolan didn't stay the night with men she had slept with. It had become a defense mechanism for her after her relationship with Neal - scratch the itch and leave them before they left her. She hadn't even spent the entire night with Walsh until they moved in together and they had had a four year relationship. She had done just that with Killian though. Not only had she spent the night but she hadn't bolted upon waking up in his bed, staying there to have a conversation with him and eventually engaging in another round of sex. She had even _waited_ for him to get out the shower before leaving the church to meet Elsa.

She could tell herself it was her Southern manners that had made her say a proper good-bye. That she had gotten lost in the heat of the moment the night before - it _was_ the best sex she had ever had - and the talk had to happen after all their previous back and forth but at the end of the day, she had broken her number one rule. Never spend the night, no matter how good the sex was. Doing so left you vulnerable and open to emotions she had long ago promised herself she would never allow herself to fall into again. She hadn't fallen in love with Walsh but the second she started spending the night with him it opened her to getting hurt again, and that's exactly what had happened.

Shaking her head, Emma headed towards the kitchen where her friends were as the walls she had erected so long ago fortified themselves. She would sleep with him again, that she had no doubt of, but spending the night with Father Jones could _never_ happen again.

It was just sex, after all.


	13. Every Saint Has a Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the five month span between updates but life, a finicky muse, and the worst writer's funk I've ever fallen into held me back from getting this done sooner. Thank you to everyone who has sent me messages and offered words of encouragement, and a massive, massive thank you to my ever wonderful beta, ive-always-been-a-pirate, for giving this a look over and, ya know, not killing me when I did nothing but whine about this chapter for months on end. :)
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to an amazing woman and lovely friend, phiralovesloki, on the occasion of her birthday!
> 
> As always, enjoy, and reviews help writers who fall into horrible writing funks!

Sitting back on his haunches, Killian yanked the pristine white hand towel from his shoulder and wiped at the sweat gathering along his brow as he surveyed the recently soiled patch of land at the back corner of Regina and Robin's yard.

He had been more than little surprised when his best friend rang him the previous day and asked if Killian could fashion a handful of gardens for the mayor's residence. While his gardening habit was no secret to Robin—he was well aware that Killian had inherited his mother's love for the past time and had continued on with it after the woman's untimely death—the former locksmith had never called upon his expertise in that particular area before. The request was completely out of left field, and it had taken a quick chat with Regina to assure the priest that his best friend had in fact not been hitting his own liquor too hard.

Apparently Moe French, the owner of the local florist shop, had been in the process of installing the ten mini gardens for them when he suffered a heart attack a few weeks ago. He'd thankfully survived the medical scare, but it was clear Mr. French's side business of being Storybrooke's only gardener had ended with the tip of a doctor's pen restricting him to selling flowers. Regina and Robin had hired an out of town landscaper to finish the job and the man had never shown up, giving them one excuse after another until Regina had had enough and fired him. Robin had mentioned Killian's hobby of gardening in passing one night over dinner, and Regina had encouraged her husband to give the priest a call - which is how Killian found himself covered in soil and sweat on a Saturday afternoon beneath a blazing sun.

Killian slung the towel back over his shoulder and reached for the small gardening hoe he had set to the side a few moments before, muttered curses towards Storybrooke's weather falling from his lips while he began making holes for the flowers once again.

There seemed to be no relief in sight for the intolerable heat. Even the daily afternoon showers they had been graced with all week had done nothing to penetrate the humidity, sweat and clothes alike still sticking to skin despite the torrential downpours. Working in the non-air conditioned church had become impossible, and the man Robin had recommended to install the AC unit—the only person in a fifty mile radius who  _could_ do it—wasn't able to start until next week at the earliest. It had become so unbearable that he had started ditching the dress shirts and wearing his running tanks when not taking confession or giving sermons. Not that Emma seemed to mind the wardrobe change, of course.

He had been in the chapel almost two weeks going over the logistics of adding air conditioning to a 177 year old church with Little John, the AC technician, when Emma arrived for her evening shift. His intention when getting ready that morning had been for practical purposes when it came to the weather, but he hadn't been able to deny the swell of masculine pride that overtook him at Emma's slack jawed expression when she saw him dressed in jeans and a white running tank. She'd been relatively discreet in her gawking as she joined the conversation the two men were having, engaging with Little John in idle chit chat yet looking at Killian with hungry eyes whenever the other man's back was turned. He'd barely closed the doors behind the six-foot technician before she boldly dragged him to one of the back pews and straddled him, leaving both of them gasping and soaked in sweat as his seed coated her inner thighs.

Smirking at the memory and the fact he'd never look at that pew the same way again, Killian let his mind wander as he worked the small garden.

It was surreal at times the speed with which their relationship had changed. A few weeks ago he had been unable to be in the same room with her for fear of being tempted and now he willingly lingered in her presence, openly caressing her body with his eyes and stealing whatever physical moments he could throughout the day. Emma no longer looked or touched him under the guise of innocent intentions either—not that she had done that since before her parent's barbecue. The boldness she had shown during the game of lawn twister and on their front porch had been amplified now that she was unhindered by his spiritual resistance.

It was more than a physical change, however. The friendship they had started to build before their drunken text fiasco had reemerged with him giving into his desires. Dinners on the nights she worked at the church were filled with laughter and stories. They talked about a range of topics from philosophy to the latest news circling around Storybrooke, both within the confines of their shared office and when apart through texting. Not a day went by now where they didn't send each other at least a handful of texts—a random joke they had heard, an online meme they thought the other would find funny, recapping their days—and more than one night he had fallen asleep with his phone in his hand after they bantered back and forth for hours on end.

Even last night they had been up til almost one in the morning, talking about their day and flirting until it had lead to an enjoyable round of phone sex…

"Father Jones?"

Pulled abruptly from his thoughts, Killian turned his head to the side to see Robin standing a few feet away dressed casually in a pair of jeans and forest green t-shirt that had his bar's logo stenciled onto it. His right hand was shoved into the pocket of his pants and a beer, one of the English ones he had imported to Storybrooke fairly often, was held loosely in his other hand.

"Haven't we had this discussion a million times about you calling me Killian?" he asked, sitting back on his legs and squinting his eyes at his best friend, internally cursing the fact he had left his sunglasses at the church that morning.

"Old habits die hard," Robin replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "Though I must admit your new attire does make it a little easier to see you as simply Killian and not a priest."

Glancing down at the jeans and black tank he wore, Killian chuckled. "Well, slacks and dress shirts don't make the most comfortable clothes to garden in, mate. Particularly in this heat."

"Point taken." Tilting his head towards the house, Robin asked, "How about a drink? It's been awhile since you took a break, and the last thing I need is for Storybrooke's priest to keel over in my yard from heat exhaustion."

"That I wouldn't say no to," Killian replied, tossing the hand held hoe to the grass and rising to follow his best friend across the yard.

Unlike the Nolans' back porch which wrapped around one corner of their house, Regina and Robin's simply extended outward into their yard. The square structure was framed by a waist high railing and six pillars that supported the mini storage area directly above it. Black wicker furniture with blood red cushions were placed strategically around the porch, the dark colors a perfect complement to the three gray marble table tops that joined each grouping of chairs. A small storage box filled to the brim with Henry's outside toys sat next to the french doors that lead into the house, and simple arrangements of white hydrangeas decorated the table tops in clear vases.

Taking a seat in one of the far corner chairs, Killian nodded in thanks as Robin handed him a cold bottle of water from the small cooler that had been set out for him shortly after his arrival that morning.

"How's it looking?" Robin asked as he sat in the chair directly across from him.

"Not as bad as I thought it would be." Downing half the bottle, Killian continued, "Mr. French had most of the hard work finished, except for the two circular plots Regina wants around the fountains in the front yard. I finished putting the soil in those and now it's just a matter of planting the flowers in all ten gardens."

"You're a lifesaver, Killian. Are you  _sure_ we can't pay you directly?"

He waved away the remark with the hand not holding his water bottle. "You're my best friend. Of course I was going to help you in any way I could, and I'm positive on the payment arrangement. Making a donation to the church that will go toward its upkeep helps me a lot more than having the money sit in my bank account."

Robin shook his head. "Still, you're saving me and Regina from having to bring in another landscaper from out of town that is going to charge us an outrageous amount, and then not be as talented as you are."

Killian felt the tips of his ears burn under the praise. "It's just planting flowers, Loxley. There's not much too it."

"On the contrary, there  _is_. Even with my limited knowledge on the subject I know you can't just throw soil on to grass and call it a garden. On top of that, you've managed to pick flowers that are not only aesthetic to our property, but that Regina approves of, and that's not an easy feat to accomplish where my wife is concerned. Her and Moe have been going back and forth for a month now on what to plant and they  _still_  hadn't reached a decision when the poor man had his heart attack. You have a talent for it, mate, and remember I know firsthand where it comes from."

Smiling at the mention of his mother, Killian turned his gaze towards the backyard, not really taking in the large apple trees Regina's grandfather had planted or the inground pool in the right corner of the property. It was the kind of space he wished his mother had had to fully nurture her own talent instead of the tiny strip of land that had been their yard back in England. He could only imagine the magnificent floral jungle she would have created, each garden carefully crafted and every flower lovingly tended to. Killian found himself swallowing against the unexpected lump in his throat at the memory of the raven haired woman gently caressing the petals of a daisy, her favorite flower, with a content and ethereal smile on her lips.

"Mum would have been far better at it than me," he murmured, looking back to his friend.

"She definitely had an unmatched talent," Robin conceded, a fond smile pulling at his lips. "Do you remember what she would do to us for punishment when we got into trouble?"

Killian laughed as he leaned back in the wicker chair. "She'd make you work the garden with her and forced me to stand on the side and watch."

"You  _hated_ that. For most teenagers, toiling away in soil would have been punishment but not you. She knew forbidding you to work in the garden was pure torture."

The sudden sound of something crashing from within the house had both men looking towards the french doors. Sighing heavily, Robin sat his beer on the table and stood.

"Speaking of boys who get into trouble, I've got to go see what my son is doing."

Killian chuckled as Robin disappeared into the house. He could still remember all the shenanigans him and Robin had pulled when they were that age, and he could only imagine what nefarious deeds a bright lad like Henry had gotten himself into.

He was just about to take another sip of water when the familiar chime of an incoming text message sounded. Wondering who would be texting him at this time on a Saturday, he dug his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. The furrow between his brows instantly disappeared when he saw that the text was from Emma. She had sent him a picture of herself, her toned body clad in an emerald green bikini and stretched out on one of the lounge chairs by her parent's pool, the caption reading: ' _Enjoying my day off after the week I've had!'_

His eyes took in the miles and miles of skin on display, and he forced his body not to react to the sight. Having an erection on his best friend's back porch in the middle of the day was  _not_ something he could easily explain away.

**Killian: Minx. You know exactly what you're doing by sending me a picture like that.**

**Emma: What? I just wanted to show you how I was spending my afternoon, Father. ;p If anything 'pops up' because of it, you can just handle it as you once oh so subtly told me.**

Killian chuckled.

**Killian: You could always spend the night and** _**handle** _ **it yourself, love.**

He knew with absolute certainty what her message would be before the three dots appeared on his phone, but it still did nothing to stem the flash of hurt that shot through him as he read her response.

**Emma: Unfortunately none of the girls are available to cover for me—next time, I promise. :)**

Killian forced a smile despite the fact she couldn't see it.

**Killian: Next time. :)**

Silencing his phone, he returned it to the front pocket of his jeans and sighed heavily. Having Emma in his bed was everything he had dreamed it would be, except she hadn't stayed  _in_  his bed overnight since the first time they slept together.

He hadn't thought much of it the first few times she had given him an excuse—she had an early shift at the station, plans with her friends, some family obligation early the next day—but by the fourth time it had been clear she was actively avoiding overnight stays. He wasn't surprised, however. She had told him herself, albeit in a moment of anger on her parent's back porch, that she was a casual sex kind of girl. It was a way of life he could understand. Before Liam's death and the donning of the white collar at his throat, Killian had been the same way—a different girl every night, always up and gone before the afterglow of sex had worn off. It was a defense mechanism, born out of a need to not let yourself get attached, a means to keep from getting hurt again.

He had fallen into that way of life after his relationship with Milah had ended, and he had a suspicion Emma's reasoning was very similar. Although she had eventually told him about her reason for returning home, she never mentioned any of her other past relationships, and Killian knew her break up with Walsh hadn't brought on the need to protect herself emotionally. She said she hadn't been in love with him, and the kind of response Emma had of avoiding an intimate setting like spending the night was indicative of a wound caused by someone you had loved. No, there was at least one other relationship in her past, and he'd bet every cent donated to the church that person was responsible.

 _So then why did it bother him that she refused to spend the night?_  Killian's jaw clenched at the thought. He could understand why she wouldn't, and yet every time Emma came up with an excuse not to stay the night, a part of him was hurt by her decision not to. He shouldn't be, though. It wasn't like they were in a relationship...

"Everything okay, mate?"

Startling at the sound of Robin's voice, Killian looked up from where he had been staring at the marble table top to see his best friend standing in the doorway.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Why do you ask?"

"Because you look like you want to punch my table for offending your sister."

Clearing his throat, Killian nodded. "Sorry, I was just thinking about a problem a parishioner is having. Is Henry okay?"

"Oh, yeah. He was playing with a wooden sword Sheriff Nolan gave him and knocked over a bowl of apples in his attempt to slay the dragon—or the lamp as we unimaginative folks call it," Robin replied with a light chuckle. "I'm going to take him to the library so he can  _read_ about sword fighting instead of attempting to do it himself. Do you need anything before I go?"

"No, I'm good. I'll probably just sit here for a few more minutes before I head back to the garden."

"Okay. Take however long you need and remember to rest often in this heat!" Robin called out as he disappeared back into the house with a good-bye wave.

Killian remained on the back porch for a good ten minutes after the sounds of Robin and Henry leaving had faded, his mind instantly returning to the situation he had been pondering seconds before.

The fact he was bothered that Emma refused to spend the night had been a source of personal irritation for him over the last few weeks. He couldn't figure out why he felt the way he did, and for a man who always knew the motivation behind other people's feelings it was maddening. Why did he care so much if she stayed the night or not? It wasn't like her decision to be with him was affected by them not waking up together. She still wanted him—that much was evident in the amount of times they had slept together.  _Was it because her refusal to do so went against his code as a gentleman?_  He shook the thought away before he had even finished it. Although he had the manners of someone born in another century he was a modern man, and he'd certainly never felt like he was practicing bad form himself when he didn't stay the entire night in a woman's bed after Milah.

Sighing in frustration, Killian grabbed a fresh bottle of water from the small cooler and made his way off the porch and across Regina and Robin's back yard.

There was logic to some of her excuses as well, like the one she had given today. Emma didn't live on her own and couldn't come and go as she pleased—her absence at home would most certainly be noted by her parents, and there were only four places she could stay overnight that wouldn't raise questions. Emma  _needed_  one of the girl's to cover for her, but that also meant she had to come up with a reason for why she wasn't at either home or one of her friend's houses. She couldn't exactly tell them she was spending the night in a priest's bed, after all.

What he  _did_ know about the situation was that needing an alibi wasn't the only thing keeping Emma from staying overnight—there was that deeper, more emotional reason to her avoiding the intimate setting, the one that spoke to the pain she tried to hide from everyone. Perhaps it wasn't her refusal that was responsible for his own feelings but the cause  _behind_ why she did it. The need to discover what had lead to her walls certainly hadn't abated with the development of their physical relationship, though he'd truly done nothing to suss out and mend her wound so far. What if the sadness he felt was a reminder from his perceptive nature that he needed to concentrate on helping her now that he wasn't fighting temptation with every breath he took?

 _Well, I can certainly do that now_ , Killian thought as he reached the small garden he had been working on before Robin pulled him away for a break. It wouldn't be easy, of course. Emma had obviously been holding onto the pain for some time now, and he knew from personal experience that a person who did that wasn't the type to readily open up about it just because someone started prodding at the unhealed emotional scar. They were more likely to lash out and try to protect themselves—just as he had done to Liam and Robin after Milah broke his heart. He was a patient man, though.

Satisfied that he had finally worked out why her actions bothered him, Killian knelt in the freshly trimmed grass and went back to work, all the while ignoring the mocking voice of his older brother.

_For such a perceptive man you sure are clueless, little brother._

* * *

_This was by far one of her more brilliant idea_ s, Emma thought as she adjusted herself on the mesh pool float, a sigh of contentment escaping her when the back of her sun warmed body dipped even further beneath the cool surface of the water.

Late-July in the south wasn't the most comfortable weather to spend a day outside in, yet she was willing to suffer through it for a little peace after the week she had. A tyrannical bride who Emma had envisioned pushing off a cliff multiple times had postponed her pre-marital counseling sessions, and then became physically hostile when the date and time she wanted hadn't been available. It wasn't anything Emma couldn't handle, but she hadn't expected to start her week off by putting a former head cheerleader in a headlock and then  _arresting_ said woman for attempted assault over a time slot.

On top of the right hook swinging bride, someone had decided to break into a few of the local shops over the course of a few nights. Regina had even approved her having over time so they could catch the culprit or culprits, and she knew the only reason  _that_ had happened was because Gold's shop had been one of the ones hit. Between that and the drunken escapades of one Will Scarlet—who, surprisingly enough, was not the miscreant of said break-ins—she had also had to take the bug in to have the radiator repaired and, not a day later replaced a flat tire she had acquired thanks to some high school student's prank.

All in all it had been a fairly chaotic week, and she was determined when she clocked out from her evening shift at the station yesterday to have a relaxing day off—a feat she had so far accomplished with the utmost laziness. Sleeping in until nearly ten o'clock, she had then spent the rest of the morning doing nothing but catching up on new episodes of Forensic Files while painting her toes. It had been a little odd to have the entire house to herself, what with her parents visiting her ailing grandmother on the more rural side of town, but after the way her mother had been acting all week she had welcomed the silence.

After finishing her toenails and reading a chapter from her well loved copy of  _The Princess Bride_ ,she had decided to take advantage of the first full sunny day since last Saturday and made her way out to the pool. She had spent the last three hours alternating between the cool water and one of the covered lounge chairs, the chaos of the week melting away the longer the sun's rays warmed her body. There was no better way to have spent her Saturday, honestly. She was relaxed and pliant as she floated in the pool, basking in the serene and quiet surroundings of her back yard with only the distant sound of a neighbor cutting their grass to interrupt the peaceful afternoon...

"Mind if I join you?"

Startling so much that she almost rolled completely off the float, Emma's head whipped towards the front of the pool area to find her mother standing by one of the red cushioned lounge chairs, looking for all the world like she hadn't just given her only child a miniature heart attack.

"Jesus Christ, mom!"

The school teacher, who was dressed in a light blue one-piece with a pair of aviator sunglasses covering her eyes, huffed in displeasure. "Emma, don't take the Lord's name in vain."

"Well, don't sneak up on someone like that!" Emma admonished as she righted herself in the mesh float. "I thought you and dad were spending the day with grandma Ruth?"

"We did, at least until your Uncle James stopped by unexpectedly. You know your father can't stand to be in the same county as him, let alone the same room."

"Oh. Was he trying to get more money from grandma?"

It  _was_  the only time her uncle ever visited his mother. James Nolan had been a habitual drug user since him and her father were teenagers, and he constantly used the fact that Emma's grandfather died when they were young to guilt her grandma Ruth into giving him money to fund that addiction.

"Probably, which is why your father and I came home. Ruth has never been able to say no to your uncle, especially since her health has taken a turn for the worse." Setting the beach towel and iPad she had been holding onto the covered table, her mother turned towards Emma fully. "So, can I join you?"

Emma narrowed her eyes despite the fact the other woman couldn't see the action through her sunglasses.

"I don't know, are we going to talk about the subject you've been harping on me about?"

"Harping is a rather strong verb," her mother replied, her stance instantly shifting from relaxed to the  _'teacher about to correct you'_  one Emma had been the recipient of for most of her life. "I'm just a mother concerned for her daughter's future."

"Mom…"

Mary Margaret sighed heavily. "No, we won't talk about your rash decision, Emma. I just want to spend some quality with you on your day off."

Her mother wasn't necessarily lying—at least about wanting to spend time with her—but Emma could detect the ulterior motive in the southern belle's tone a mile away. Still, she couldn't keep her out of her own pool, and Emma knew even if she attempted to her mother would just find another opportunity to broach the subject that had brought her out here.

Gesturing to the water around her she quipped, "By all means."

Her mother smiled in triumphant and Emma groaned internally, watching wearily as the other woman grabbed one of the spare mesh floats from the large storage cabinet and made her way towards the pool's built in steps. Emma closed her eyes once her mother was situated on the float, intent on recapturing her relaxed state for however long her mother allowed her to.

When twenty minutes went by and neither woman had spoken, she began to wonder if she had been wrong about her mother's intentions. Emma was always on guard when it came to her mother, the turbulent relationship that developed between them at some point in Emma's childhood forcing her to always expect the worst when it came to interactions with her mother. It was justified to some degree. Her mother never agreed with any decision Emma made—the clothes she had worn as a teenager, her career path, the state of her love life—and she was always the first to point out Emma's mistakes, and she certainly was never afraid to share how she really felt about whatever her daughter had done.

But there was also the other side of the coin. Her mother loved her, that had been one aspect of their relationship she never questioned, and she was always there when Emma really needed her. She was the one who had dealt with Emma being bullied in the fourth grade, the one who had sent her money when she was just getting her footing in those early years of living in New York, and it had been her mother who suggested Emma come live with them after her breakup with Walsh. There were always strings attached or opinions given, even when she didn't ask for them, but Mary Margaret Nolan had never left her daughter in an hour of need.

Except for the instance involving Neal, not that Emma could really hold that against her mother. The other woman had never been given the full story on what happened that night, and she was a mature enough adult to recognize someone couldn't be held accountable for their actions when they weren't given the entire picture.

Deciding to give her mother the benefit of the doubt for once, Emma let herself fully embrace the quiet moment.

It was a beautiful albeit scorching day, and she couldn't help but wonder what Killian was up to. Normally he texted her throughout Saturdays as he worked on the final edits for his sermon and while doing odd chores around the church ahead of Sunday Mass, but she'd barely heard from him all day. He'd sent her a good morning text when he'd woken up—at 5:30 AM, no less—and they'd exchanged a few briefs sentences a few hours ago after she had sent him the provocative pic of her sunbathing next to the pool. They  _had_ been up rather late the night before talking, however, and due to the shift in their relationship he had spent a good portion of his free time pleasuring her, so she knew he was further behind on his sermon than he normally would be.

Emma bit her lip at the memory of how they had spent one of those pleasurable free moments in his office just that week, and once again marveled at how much the priest's behavior had changed since they started sleeping together.

The way he flirted with her was the most obvious change. Whereas before he had done it subtly and behind the guise of friendly banter, he now took to it with no reservations, dropping innuendo laced remarks as if they were mundane parts of a conversation and doing nothing to hide the intention beneath his words. It was like the shackles that had hindered him were completely gone and the man she had only glimpsed fleetingly before had come out in full force. Not that she minded. It thrilled her that he no longer hid his desire for her, boldly sending her suggestive texts and reaching for her when no one else was around. He did it most of the time without her prompting him, and since he had left her in that alley during the storm, he hadn't once turned down any of her own advances.

Which was a good thing considering she had made  _a lot_ of them since he began wearing his new attire.

"Did Graham do something you weren't comfortable with?"

The image of Father Jones taking her on the kitchen island with his biceps on full display in one of his tanks evaporated quickly at the school teacher's question. Of course her mother had simply been waiting for Emma's guard to go down to attack, a fact she both admired and loathed at the same time.  _So much for quality time._

"Of course he didn't," she instantly replied, sighing in annoyance at the clear meaning behind her mother's inquiry. "Why would you ask such a question?"

"Because you're my daughter and I want to know if I need to get my archery bow out of retirement."

Emma shifted her float around in the pool just in time to see the casual shrug her mother gave. She wasn't falling in  _that_ trap again and she snorted, letting her mother know she was on to her little game.

"You mean you're trying to find a reason for the decision I made."

There was a pause and then—"Perhaps, but even if I wasn't, the sentiment still stands."

Emma sighed. "I've already told you my reasoning, mom."

She swore interacting with her mother was like experiencing whiplash sometimes. Emma knew that if Graham—or  _any_ man, for that matter—did something against Emma's will, her mother would be a force to be reckoned with more so than even Emma's father. However, that wasn't what this was about. It wasn't about her mother's fear that something had happened because she knew damn well it hadn't. It was just her mother's way of trying to figure out why she'd made the decision she did. This  _was_ the ulterior motive she had sensed, and any minute now her mother was going to bring up the subject that had been a bone of contention between them since her date with Graham, the very thing her mother had sworn they wouldn't talk about before getting into the pool.

"I know you have, I just… Emma, are you sure you want to permanently close the door on a relationship with Graham?"

_And there it was._

Her mother had been questioning her decision not to see Graham romantically for two weeks now. She had been confused when Emma dropped that piece of news after Elsa brought her home, and had immediately launched into an Oscar worthy speech about why Graham was perfect for her.

 _Emma,_   _he works, he's independent, he has ambition, and he's driven. The last man you dated only had one of those qualities, and we both know he spent more time with that red headed witch than actually working. Graham is a_ _ **good**_ _man and would treat you the way you deserve, even give you a stable and secure life. Men like him don't grow on trees, dear._

She hadn't denied any of it, of course, because everything her mother said was true. Graham  _was_ a good guy, and far more emotionally mature and professionally driven than any man Emma had dated previously. Her mother just couldn't understand that she felt no romantic feelings for him and why that meant a relationship could never happen. She had set her mind to the fact that Emma should be falling head over heels in love with Graham simply because he was the first decent guy to show interest in her, and refused to accept anything else, even her own daughter's feelings. It had been a constant and ongoing cycle between mother and daughter. Mary Margaret would ask why she couldn't see a future with Graham, Emma would state her feelings on the matter, and her mother would ignore them in favor of promoting Graham as the answer to Emma's dismal love life.

And it was clearly going to happen again.

"Mom, we've been over this a million times," she replied, doing nothing to keep the annoyance from her tone.

"It just doesn't make sense, Emma. You said you had a good time on your date."

"Having a good date doth not maketh a relationship," Emma mocked. "You're acting like I ended a five year relationship—there  _was_  no relationship."

Her mother made a sound of agreement. "And that's my point! You've made a decision based on  _one_ interaction. He could be your true love and you're just… throwing that chance away."

Emma's hands fisted where they lay beneath the water. "I'm not throwing anything away. I've told you,  _repeatedly_ , that I didn't have any romantic feelings for Graham prior to our date and that the only reason I went on it was because you insisted. Going out with him didn't change that. If anything, it solidified the fact that we could never be more than friends."

"Well, why not?" her mother asked and Emma rolled her eyes, thankful the large sunglasses she wore hid the disrespectful movement. "You're both ambitious and work in law enforcement. Neither of you have conformed to small town life and you both loath American football."

Emma gaped at her mother. "Are you  _serious_? None of that represents a good foundation to build a relationship on! You have to have more and it wasn't  _there_ , mom. We fundamentally do not want the same things in life. Did you and dad build a relationship solely on the fact that both of you can throw a mean right hook?"

"Of course not," Mary Margaret scoffed. "We developed one on mutual attraction and the instant spark between us."

"That's my point. There was no spark between me and Graham, even when we kissed."

She watched her mother's eyebrows raise nearly to her hairline and Emma internally slapped herself.

"You didn't tell me y'all kissed!"

_Where was a glass of hard liquor when she needed it?_

"I like how that is what you took away from that sentence, mom. Yes, we kissed and I felt nothing when it happened. No fireworks erupted in the sky, or butterflies fluttering in my stomach—it was like kissing a friend. I swear you don't even care about my feelings on the matter. You'd rather I just pretend to like him, marry him, have a few kids, and be miserable for the rest of my life."

"Don't be absurd. Your happiness is the only thing that matters to me." When Emma huffed in disbelief her mother frowned and added, "It's true. I just… I worry that you've chosen the wrong men for so long that you don't know when you have a good one and that you'll regret letting him slip through your fingers one day."

"Then let that be  _my_ regret. Constantly harping—and no, that is not a harsh verb with what you've been doing all week—is not going to suddenly make me change my mind. I don't like Graham like that."

Her mother contemplated her words for a long moment before sighing heavily. "I just want you to have what your father and I do, Emma."

It wasn't a lie, and a fraction of Emma's anger subsided at her mother's honest declaration even as that feeling of emotional whiplash returned. Because once, long ago before Neal had broken her heart and left its remnants on the floor of Gold's shop, she had wanted that too. The unconditional, all encompassing love that she had witnessed every day of her life. It wasn't in the cards for her though. It hadn't been since she was seventeen, and she swallowed against the familiar bile of failure for not living up to yet another of her mother's standards.

"We all can't be as lucky as you and dad," she mumbled, not caring if the other woman heard her. Needing some space, Emma slid off the mesh float and made her way towards the pool's steps.

"Emma—"

Without turning around she pleaded, "Mom, I—I don't want to talk about it anymore."

She was just stepping out of the water and onto the concrete when her father appeared at the entrance to the pool area, dressed in a white shirt and his favorite pair of Hawaiian print swimming trunks.

"Emma, have you seen your—oh, there you are, Mary Margaret. I didn't realise you had already come down here."

"I wanted to get a head start on sunbathing," her mother replied from the pool, and Emma huffed at the lie. Ignoring the rather domestic exchange between her parents, she stood on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on her father's cheek as he passed her.

"Hi, dad."

"Hello, princess. Everything okay?"

"Just peachy," she drawled, doing nothing to hide her annoyance as she made her way around the side of the pool to the covered lounge chair she had been using all afternoon. Once seated, Emma grabbed her phone and quickly typed a message into the top conversation thread of her texting app.

**Emma: Busy?**

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Looking up from her phone, she saw her father standing on the first step of the pool with his shirt discarded and blue eyes studying her in concern.

Setting her phone back onto the table next to her, Emma flashed him a faux smile. "Yup. Just having a discussion— _once again_ — with mom about my decision not to date Graham."

Her father's gaze instantly swung to her mother, and an exasperated look crossed his face.

"Mary Margaret—"

"I'm her mother and I have every right to make sure she's making the right decision," her mother interrupted, and Emma could instantly tell by the other woman's tone that it was something her parents had discussed at length before now. It wasn't surprising, really. Her father knew how her mother could be when it came to situations like this, and he had undoubtedly had private talks with the school teacher about backing off.

"You do," David agreed with a nod of his head. "Same as I do, but she's not a child anymore, Mary Margaret. She's a responsible adult who is more than capable of determining if she's making the wrong decision or not, and at some point you're going to have to let it go. You can't  _make_ her like someone if the feelings aren't there, no matter how high your hopes for them were."

Both of Emma's eyebrows rose at her father's rather passionate speech. In all the years he had played mediator between her and her mother, David Nolan had never once blatantly taken a side. He always remained neutral—listening to both of them complain before subtly altering her mother's stance on the matter or advising Emma to pick her battles—but not this time. Her father was firmly standing in Emma's corner and out right telling his wife she needed to stop.

One glance in her mother's direction told Emma that this new development hadn't gone unnoticed by the school teacher either.

"So you're okay with her making this decision after only  _one_ date?" her mother asked in a clipped tone. The school teacher's crossed arms and raised chin screamed that she was not happy about this turn of events in the slightest.

"Absolutely," her father replied as he made his way deeper into the pool. "Honestly, I'm kind of glad Emma decided not to pursue a relationship with Graham."

 _That_ had Emma pausing in her movement to lay back on the lounge chair. "Really?"

Climbing onto the mesh float Emma had abandoned, her father shrugged. "If you had continued to see him I would have supported you, of course, but truthfully… I never liked the idea."

Mary Margaret gaped at her husband before splashing water in his direction with her left hand. "You said you were okay with it!"

"Just because I was okay with it didn't mean I particularly  _liked_ the idea, Mary Margaret. Graham's a great guy, but if him and Emma…." Here her father stumbled a bit over his words, twin spots of redness appearing on his cheeks that weren't caused by the sun. "If they had, uh, taken their relationship to a...  _physical_ level it would have been awkward for me, both as their boss and her father."

Emma bit her lower lip to keep from laughing at how uncomfortable her father looked mentioning the topics of her and sex—even in an indirect way—in the same sentence. She'd normally tease him about it but considering he was currently standing in her corner against the onslaught of her mother's harping, she decided to take pity on the man.

"Likewise, dad. Not having any romantic feelings for him aside, that was another factor that brought me to the decision not to see him again."

_That, and the insanely hot sex I had with the priest later that night._

Her father nodded in understanding while ignoring his wife's pointed glare. "How did Graham take the news?"

"He was fine with it," Emma replied as she laid back on the lounge chair.

She wasn't lying—he had been. They had met at Storybrooke Cafe on Graham's lunch break the morning after her interrogation by the girls, Emma steadfastly refusing to essentially dump her friend in the crowded and gossip central location of Granny's diner. God knew between people's big mouths and Granny's insanely good hearing, the news would have spread before either of them made it out the door. Over sandwiches and coffee she had broken the news to him as gently as she could, and had done her level best to let him know it had nothing to do with him personally. He had been disappointed, of course, but unlike her mother Graham had accepted her reasoning and had even agreed that they had vastly different goals for the future with the most understanding smile. Promises were made that it wouldn't change their friendship or professional relationship, and Emma had walked away from the conversation thankful that Graham was the kind of man he was, which only cemented her initial realization that he would be perfect for Ruby.

"I suppose that's one saving grace," her father said with a noticeable sigh of relief. "At least things won't be awkward between the two of you at work."

"Well, it might be a little considering they kissed."

Anger flared sharply within Emma at her mother's words, and the only thing that kept her from unleashing that anger towards the woman who had given birth to her was the manners she had been instilled with. Instead, she ignored the remark and reached for her phone and headphones, pointedly putting an end to the conversation she hadn't wanted to have in the first place.

She couldn't hear what her parents were discussing through James Blunt's upbeat  _Stay the Night_ , but from the facial expressions they wore she could tell they were discussing her father's displeasure over her mother's persistent tactics.  _Good_ , she thought. Her mother deserved to be lectured over her actions, and God knew the only person who could do it and make any headway, however small, was Emma's father.

The sudden alert of a new text message had Emma turning her attention from her parents to the phone in her hand.

**Killian: Sorry, turned my phone off earlier. I've just returned to the church. :)**

A smile pulled at Emma's lips when she saw the response to the message she had sent a few minutes before.

**Emma: Did you take advantage of the air conditioned library to finish your sermon?**

**Killian: hahaha no, but that is an idea worth exploring in the future, though. Robin and Regina needed some last minute help with gardening, so I was at their house all day.**

Emma blinked in surprise. She knew Mr. French, Storybrooke's part time gardener, had suffered a heart attack around the time her and Killian started sleeping together, and word had spread fairly quickly that the out of town landscaper Regina had hired to finish her private renovations had been a bust. The Mayor had mentioned in passing when she dropped by the station yesterday afternoon that she had found a last minute savior, but Emma had never expected it to be Father Jones. Though it made sense, of course. Robin  _was_  his best friend, and she had seen his gardening work on a number of occasions when she found him tending to the little patch of dirt next to the church.

The man really had a multitude of talents.

**Emma: A priest** _**and** _ **a part time gardener. Don't let my mother find that out or you'll never have a moment's rest, Father.**

**Killian: Noted. Though it would give me an excuse to survey the goddess soaking up the sun. ;p How was your day off?**

The familiar twinge of unease shot through her at his use of the term 'goddess'. She wasn't creeped out by Killian's description—she was fairly certain the man could never  _give_  a skeevy remark, what with the 17th century poetic way he talked—it was just something she wasn't use to. Emma had never been one to easily take a compliment about her looks that didn't include the words  _sexy_ or  _hot_ , especially from members of the male sex. After all, the last man besides her father that had called her beautiful and  _meant_ it was…

Emma shook the thought away before she could finish it.

**Emma: It was going well until my mother decided to ambush me.**

**Killian: How so?**

**Emma: Long story—just my mother being her normal, persistent self. Thankfully dad took my side, but it's ruined what was shaping up to be a very relaxing day.**

**Killian: I'm sorry, lass. Anyway I can help?**

Emma started to type that there wasn't when she glanced up from her phone. At some point her parents had moved from their floats to the uncovered lounge chairs on the other side of the pool area, and looked to still be in a heated discussion though Emma couldn't hear them over her music. She had hoped her father would be able to talk her mother into dropping the Graham thing, but judging by the set of her mother's shoulders and the way her dimpled chin rose while Emma's father continued to speak, that wasn't happening. At least not for the next few hours.

Perhaps a change in scenery to give her mother time to cool down was in order. She ran the risk of Killian asking her to stay the night again, but it was one she was willing to take over continuing the discussion with her mother. Besides, she still had the excuse from earlier she could use if need be.

Deleting what she had typed, she quickly wrote a new message and hit send.

**Emma: Actually, there is. I'll explain in 15 minutes.**

Not waiting for his response, she took out her headphones as she stood and began to gather the few things she had brought to the pool earlier that day.

"Mom, dad—I've got to go to the church for a few hours."

"Emma, it's your day off!"

"I know, but something happened with the schedule and I need the hard copy to figure out what's going on," she lied, feeling only the smallest twinge of guilt for out right lying to her father. She could tell by her mother's thinned lips that the other woman was  _well_  aware of why Emma seemed enthusiastic to be called in on her day off.

"Will you be home in time for dinner?" Mary Margaret asked, clearly trying to gauge how long she'd have to work on her argument before her daughter's return.

Emma shook her head at her mother's question. "Probably not. I'm sure Father Jones will make something if it takes awhile. I'll see you later!"

With that she was practically running from the pool area and up the stepping stone pathway that lead to the house. Once inside, she made her way up to her bedroom and tossed what items she wouldn't be taking with her onto her bed before rummaging in her dresser for a cover up. Slipping into the strapless piece of clothing, she quickly grabbed her car keys from her nightstand and raced downstairs, barely remembering to slip into a pair of flip flops in her hurry to put distance between her and her mother.

* * *

"How are you feeling, lass?"

"Exceedingly better than I was when I first texted you."

"A perfectly grilled steak and Granny's recipe for homemade fries will do that, I suppose," Killian mused playfully with his hands in the soapy dish water. "I'll have to remember to thank the Widow Lucas."

A feminine snort sounded from behind him in the vicinity of the kitchen island. "Pretty sure the mind blowing sex  _and_ the delicious food did it."

Killian chuckled as he set a dinner plate into the drying rack next to the sink. "Duly noted for future reference."

"Are you sure I can't help with the dishes since you did all the cooking?" Emma asked yet again, the third time since they had finished dinner and he had begun cleaning up.

"I'm sure. It's your day off and I would have cooked and cleaned even without you here."

"Yeah, but I made you do extra work after busting in and having my way with you."

Pausing in his efforts to scrub the sheet pan he had used to make the fries on, Killian looked over his right shoulder and winked at her. "Do you see me complaining about that in any way?"

Emma's answering smile pulled one from his own lips as he turned back to his task.

He hadn't expected her to show up at the church after she had sent that last text, though the last thing Killian was going to do was complain when she appeared in the doorway of their shared office. All she had said was that she needed to get away from her house for a little awhile, and he had gladly accepted the company as he went over the final edits for tomorrow's sermon. They had talked as he worked—him asking her what she had done with her day off, and Emma inquiring about the job at Robin and Regina's house—and once he was satisfied that the sermon was as polished as it could be, he had asked her to join him in a much needed shower. She had obliged, and after washing away the day's sweat from his skin he had taken her against the tiled wall, the slightly cool water beating down on them and muffling their sounds of pleasure.

Biting his lip at the memory of what had happened only a few hours before, Killian placed the last dish in the drying rack and dried his hands before moving to make their after dinner beverages.

"You sure do seem to have an affinity for Queen above all other rock bands, Father."

Killian frowned at the rather random remark until he realised Queen's  _Radio Ga Ga_ was playing from his phone. He'd left his playlist running while they ate, the volume turned down low to give the room a melodic background as they conversed over dinner. Chuckling, he retrieved the milk from the refrigerator and poured just enough in her coffee to turn the liquid blonde.

"Queen is the best band of all time," he replied while putting the milk back. "Surely even you as an American can agree."

"I'm fairly certain every  _human_  on the planet agrees with that statement. If they don't, they're wrong."

Killian laughed in agreement at her assessment, and picking up their mugs, turned towards her. Emma was still sitting on the opposite side of the kitchen island in what had quickly become her seat whenever they ventured into the kitchen, a half empty water bottle and her phone pushed to the side in anticipation of her coffee. Instead of donning her cover up after their wet activities she had pilfered one of his black dress shirts from his wardrobe, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and the first few buttons left undone. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, the few tendrils that escaped to frame her face dancing from the two box fans he had set up to keep the kitchen cool under the oppressive summer heat, and his stomach flipped at just how breathtakingly gorgeous she was.

Noticing his stare, Emma raised a delicate eyebrow. "What? Do I have steak sauce on my chin or something?"

"No, just admiring your beauty," he confessed before setting their mugs down and taking his seat at the island.

She scoffed in self deprecation at his words. She had done that a few times when he made a remark about her looks that wasn't sexual in nature, and not for the first time he wondered who it was that had caused her to doubt such an undeniable truth.

"So, why such a strong connection to Queen?" she asked, clearly not wanting to comment or draw attention to his remark. Allowing her to change the subject because he knew now wasn't the time to try and prod  _that_  particular wall, he tapped the side of his mug thoughtfully as he mentally wandered back through his childhood for the source of her question.

"I suppose it's because of my mother," he answered with a wistful smile. "She was a teenager during the band's early years of success and she never fell out of love with them."

Emma took a tentative sip of her coffee and smiled. "Bit of a rocker babe, was she?"

"I suppose so," he said with a laugh. "Perhaps not in practice, but at heart she was. Their music was always playing in our house, even in her final days."

"Your mother's gone?"

"Aye, she died when I was fourteen."

He could still vividly recall the lack of music when he had returned home from spending the night with Robin, the small two bedroom apartment draped in a thick silence that spoke of an unchangeable event. Liam had been sitting in the kitchen, a cup of tea and their mother's engagement ring with the ruby stone on the table before him while Belle slept on the couch, her twelve-year-old body curled in on itself and tears drying on her cheeks. His mother had quietly passed away in the middle of the night from the disease that had ravaged her mortal body for nearly two years.

"Killian, I—I'm so sorry."

Shaking himself from the memory of his older brother wrapping him in the tightest of hugs, Killian smiled softly at the woman sitting across from him. "It's alright, lass."

Emma shook her head, her ponytail swaying with the movement. "Yeah, but here I am being an ass and reminding you—"

"Emma, it's  _fine_ , truly. In all honesty, I had never made the connection before and it… I feel a little bit closer to her having realised it, so thank you."

She seemed to contemplate the truthfulness of his assurance for a long moment before nodding. "What was she like, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Not at all. She was a very thoughtful and tender woman. Loving, too. Mum never shied away from showing affection and I don't think a day ever went by without her telling us how much she loved us. Her favorite thing to do besides listening to Queen during housework was to garden, a passion I somehow managed to inherit." At the sight of Emma's smirk, he chuckled. "I was the only one, though. The green thumb completely skipped Liam—he once killed an aloe vera plant, which is virtually  _impossible_ to do—and Belle always preferred to bury herself in books rather than spend time in a garden."

Emma smiled as he paused to take a sip of his tea. "Sounds like she was an amazing woman."

Killian nodded. "She was, which says a lot considering the cards life dealt her. She had Liam when she was sixteen and from what I gathered when I was a child, my grandparents disowned her for it. On top of that, my father - who had a penchant for getting drunk and gambling his paycheck away - jumped ship before Belle was even born. Mum worked two jobs to make sure we were taken care of."

"Amazing  _and_ resilient."

"Aye, very much so. Belle's like her in that regard—physically, too. She's the spitting image of mum."

The sudden sound of a woman humming startled both of them, and it took Killian a long second to realize the familiar sound was coming from Emma's phone.

"Shit, sorry. That's my mom," Emma explained, quickly answering the call with an annoyed roll of her eyes. "Yes, mom?."

Not wanting to be intrusive, Killian did his best to tune out the one sided conversation by reflecting on what he and Emma had been discussing. He should have been unnerved with the amount he had just opened up to her yet Killian found himself strangely devoid of any such feeling. It wasn't like he had never talked about his mother's passing before—he had, many times, and with quite a few people. Morgan Jones's death was one one of the most pivotal turning points in his life - second only to losing Liam - and anyone of importance in his life knew about it, but Killian could count on one hand the number of people with whom he had discussed what she was like as a person.

In fact, there were only three—Liam, Belle, and Robin—all of whom had known his mother themselves. He'd never even mentioned more than the fact that she had died to Milah and they had had a three year relationship. It came naturally with Emma though, and Killian chalked it up to the friendship that had developed between them before they became intimate. Besides Robin, she really  _was_  the only person other than his siblings he had let himself get close to, so it wasn't terribly surprising that he had opened up to her like he had.

Hearing Emma say goodbye to her mother, he pulled himself from his internal musing and looked up just as she ended the call to see her set her phone back on the kitchen island with an exasperated sigh.

"Sorry about that."

"It's fine," he assured her before tilting his head in curiosity. "Am I correct in deducing that your ringtone for her came from the 1938 Snow White movie?"

"Oh, yeah." Taking a sip of her coffee, Emma laughed. "It's a bit of an inside joke. Well, not so much an inside joke as a joke  _on_ my mom. Snow White is her favorite Disney character and a few years back on one of my rare trips home, I walked in on her humming the opening song while she cleaned the kitchen. I've never let her forget it and she absolutely  _hates_ that I made it her ringtone."

"Well, I can certainly understand loving a Disney character," he remarked, holding up his Captain Hook mug with a cheeky grin.

Emma rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you can."

"Everything okay with Mrs. Nolan?"

"Yeah, just mom being mom. She wanted to discuss what happened at the pool earlier despite my desire to close the subject indefinitely."

"Ah, yes, when she ambushed you," he noted carefully, feeling the air around them immediately shift. "You never did say what that was about."

"It's… complicated," she replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her left ear. Killian could see one of her numerous walls rising at his question, and his realization from earlier in the day rose to the forefront of his mind. Keeping his posture relaxed and face devoid of just how eager he was to learn more about her, he shrugged.

"Well, I am a priest, as you well know. Listening to people's problems is kind of a part of my job description, and I'd be honored to lend my ear - if you want to," he added, knowing from experience with his sister that people opened up easier if they were given a choice to. He wanted to help her, not force her walls higher.

She seemed to mull over his offer, her eyes resolutely trained on the remaining liquid in her mug. There was a silent war being waged between the tense set of her shoulders and the way her upper body leaned forward, like she subconsciously couldn't stop herself from wanting to reveal this piece of herself. He waited patiently to see what choice she would make, and when she began speaking without preamble, her voice soft yet unwavering, he listened intently.

Killian had suspected for some time that the relationship between Emma and her mother was overtly strained. It had been apparent in the tense conversation he overheard nearly a month ago when Mrs. Nolan first brought up the idea of Emma dating Humbert, but he had assumed it was just a daughter not wanting her mother to get involved with her love life. It clearly went deeper than that though— _much_ deeper. Her tone reminded the priest of all the broken souls he had heard on the other side of the confessional; accepting how things were yet also having the desire to change them, even if they never admitted it to anyone but themselves.

When she fell silent, he finished his tea in one large gulp and took a few seconds to collect his thoughts before speaking.

"You feel like you've always let your mother down," he stated, cutting to the heart of the matter.

"Because I have."

Sliding his empty mug to the side, Killian rested both forearms on the kitchen island. "Playing devil's advocate, and certainly not discrediting your feelings on the matter, but every time I've heard your mother speak about you it's clear she's proud of you."

"She  _has_ to pretend like she is. Image is everything to my mom—she'll publicly sing my praise to keep her own standing intact. Like I said, everything from my career choice to mundane decisions about how I dress have been failures to her."

"Including your love life."

Emma blinked in surprise. "What makes you say that?"

"I'm a fairly perceptive man," he stated with a disarming smile. "It doesn't take much to put what you've just told me about your mother and the conversation I overheard together and come to that conclusion."

"Well, you aren't wrong." Taking a sip of her coffee, Emma laughed bitterly. "You see, my parents' romance is one of those small town fairytales—boy meets girl, they instantly fall in love, and end up with the white picket fence. It's cavity inducing perfect in a way that would make even Cinderella cry, and mom always expected me to follow in their footsteps like some progeny of true love."

He had known about the Nolan's epic love story, of course. One of his parishioners had given him an unprompted crash course on Storybrooke's residents shortly after his arrival in the small town. What surprised him, however, was Emma's view on her parents' romance. The parishioner had crafted it as this magical tale that every young girl in Storybrooke hoped to have for herself yet Emma, the product of that great love story, didn't want it. If anything, she seemed completely against the idea.

"Why didn't you?" he asked, genuinely curiously.

"Why didn't I what?"

"Follow in their footsteps. You're a beautiful woman, and I can't imagine you were lacking for suitors while growing up, even in a town as small as Storybrooke."

"I just… didn't," she replied evasively, picking up her half empty mug and making her way towards the sink.

Although she had attempted to hide it by standing, Killian hadn't missed the way her body stiffened or the guarded look that returned to her eyes at the clarification to his question. He'd obviously hit too closely to the wound that was responsible for this particular wall, and it confirmed his suspicions on why she refused to stay overnight. She'd been in love at some point in her life, maybe even believed she had the same type of love her parents had, and for whatever reason it had ended badly.

An exasperated sigh sounded from behind him. "When are they putting the AC in?"

She was changing the subject, just as she said earlier when he called her beautiful, but once again Killian let her. Pushing Emma to open up when she was digging in her heels would only cause her to retreat further behind the walls he was trying to break down.

"They should be here by noon on Tuesday," he replied, standing and placing his own mug in the sink.

"Does that mean I won't get those  _lovely_ views of you in a running tank once it's installed?" she teased with a tilt of her head.

Killian chuckled. "Not very priest-like, are they?"

"No, but it is rather appealing," she admitted, her eyes unashamedly trailing up and down his body.

He knew she was using sex to further distract him from the conversation they had been having, but like a moth to a flame, he was unable to resist her. Invading her personal space, he backed her into the counter and took advantage of the easy access his borrowed shirt offered. Both hands slid beneath the hem of the cotton fabric until they rested low on her hips, the tips of his fingers playing with the strings of her bikini bottom that she had slid back on after their shared shower.

"Is it now?" he murmured, lips barely brushing her own as he spoke.

Emma hummed in agreement, her right hand coming up to play with the smattering of chest hair that was exposed by one of the tanks in question. He was taken by surprise when she suddenly ran her nails lightly through it and over his covered nipple, the sensation causing him to rut his hips into her and curse quietly. Grinning, she stood on her toes and brought her mouth level to his ear, pressing against him even more with the action until he could feel her own hardened nipples through both of their clothing.

"How about we go to your room and I show you just how  _appealing_  I find them."

"Lead the way," he breathed, watching with hooded eyes as she slid from between him and the counter and walked towards the door. Images of having her spread beneath him in his bed were already flashing through his mind while he followed her, his body hardening even further when the shirt and bikini bottoms she was wearing fell to the hallway floor.

He'd let her distract him this time, but he was determined to break down those walls she guarded herself with, no matter if it took weeks or months to accomplish.

He was a patient man, after all.


End file.
